


Bite Down a Little Harder

by orphan_account



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse, House of Cards (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Arson, Bisexual Mallory, Blackmail, Blood and Torture, Buried Alive, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Gang Violence, Kidnapping, Murder, Not Beta Read, Past Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Political Alliances, References to Drugs, References to Prostitution, Rough Sex, Sexual Sadism, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-07-29 20:54:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20088619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Duncan steals some information he shouldn't and finds himself embroiled with the criminal underworld in D.C.





	1. Scream a Little Louder

**Author's Note:**

> Hello darling goblins, I would love to hear your thoughts on this experiment. Duncan's thoughts are italicized. I won't say too much but Red Sparrow was an inspiration.
> 
> The plot and characters of American Horror Story: Apocalypse belong to Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuk. The plot and characters of House of Cards (US) belong to Netflix. The title is from In This Moment's "Roots."
> 
> All mistakes are my own.

Consciousness returns slowly. Duncan tries to move, but his shoulders protest. Something cold scrapes against the skin of his wrists.

_Because I’m handcuffed to a fucking chair_, he realizes.

He opens his eyes and is blinded by a shaft of light spilling beneath a door to his left. When his vision adjusts, he is able to take in the grey room around him. The walls and floor appear to be concrete. The space is devoid of any decorations or furniture besides his chair. _If the uncomfortable monstrosity counts as furniture_. He can’t hear anything but his own breathing, which is a good sign.

Despite Bill’s assertions that he couldn’t piss his way out of a cardboard box, Duncan’s been trained for scenarios like this since he was twelve. He knows he shouldn’t wait for whoever took him to come back. Slipping his bonds is the priority and his captors have graciously left his feet untied. Pushing off the floor, he tries to tip the chair over. The leather soles of his YSL boots slip and slide ineffectually. “Shit,” he breathes. _It must be bolted to the floor_.

Duncan feels his breathing and heart rate accelerate. He needs to get out of here. If his captors are looking for ransom from his uncle, they’re going to be sorely disappointed. The doddering old fuck would rather see him delivered to his door in pieces than shell out millions for his safe return.

_How did they know where I was going to be tonight?_ he thinks. A splitting headache hinders his reconstruction of events, but he remembers leaving his office for The Herald and talking to Hammerschmidt. After that it’s blank. He has no recollection of leaving the news company. They either grabbed him while he was still inside or after he had left the building. No doubt in a blind spot that CCTV can’t reach. He takes stock of his person. Nothing’s bloody or broken, but the absent weight of his phone has cold terror gripping his chest. 

If they hacked his phone, he’s in deep shit. The head of cyber security had assured him that his personal tech was secure, but under the present circumstances Duncan’s doubtful of his claims. He’d taken a phone call from his mother last night about the emails that his team copied from Alderman Goode’s home computer.

As if summoned by the name, the tap of high heels sounds outside the room. Duncan cringes and feels his balls try to crawl back up inside his body_. The harpy cometh_. There are few people he knows of who are batshit enough to wear stilettos to an abduction.

Fluorescent lights flare overhead as the door swings open. A familiar figure saunters into the room trailing a cloud of Neroli and Cordite. Mallory Goode—or as she’s known among the superstitious, Yama Uba—stands at five foot one without shoes. If the headlines of every major newspaper are correct, she’s not only the tiniest but also the cruelest enforcer a person could have the misfortune of meeting. Bodies tend to crop up in dumpsters and ditches when Mallory’s on a tear. The fact that the murders are ordered by her sister, mob boss cum politician Cordelia Goode, has encouraged local police to turn a blind eye to her often…elaborate displays.

The fluidity and coiled strength behind Mallory’s movements remind Duncan of a big cat. Standing in front of him, she’s striking in the way all dangerous animals are. Her white blazer and skirt are a stark contrast to the gloomy backdrop. Honey blonde hair shines healthfully under the lights while thin lips curve into an angelic smile. “Tsk-tsk. You’ve been a bad boy, Mr. Shepherd,” Mallory flirts, batting her eyelashes shamelessly. 

Duncan has to remind himself that this is the creature keeping D.C.’s sex and drug trades running smoothly. He blinks and moves his eyes away from where her hair brushes along the tops of her breasts. “Ms. Goode,” he greets her affably. “If you wanted time alone with me all you had to do was ask.”

Mallory appears tickled by his nerve. Brown eyes twinkle as she chuckles, “come now, Duncan. We both know why you’re here.” Her smile turns mocking. “It’s certainly not out of any preference for your company.” Seriousness casts a shadow over her features as she continues, “I had to drive all the way across the city to haul your ass in for this little tête-à-tête because you stole some information that doesn’t belong to you. Now, I’m going to ask you nicely to destroy the emails and kill the story you gave The Herald. You’re going to make like the good little puppet you are and dance your way over to Gardner Analytics after our meeting is over. You won’t like it if I have to ask you twice.”

Heaviness settles in Duncan’s stomach. He needs the story to push Cordelia out of the 7th Ward. Bill wants to install Arthur Vanderbilt in the Alderman position so that he has eyes and ears on every major project and land use proposal in the city. If he kills the story now Bill will be livid. Duncan’s been diverting funds from Gardner Analytics since his true parentage was revealed, but his emergency fund isn’t large enough to sustain him if he’s excommunicated from Shepherd Unlimited. _My spending habits aren’t exactly budget friendly_.

The dryness in his throat chokes him as Duncan responds, “It’s not that simple. I can’t just kill the story. Hammerschmidt’s looking for any opportunity to undermine me. He’ll get it to another paper and make sure it runs.”

Mallory sighs, unmoved by his explanation. “Hammerschmidt is an ant under my boot. I’ll stomp on him if need be.” She punctuates her next sentence with hard jabs of her finger to the center of his forehead. “Don’t. Worry. Your. Pretty. Head. About. It.” Manicured nails drop to scrape along the hair on his jaw. “All you have to do is delete the emails and pull the plug on the story. I’ll even give you a juicy little scoop about Alderman Yue’s taste in designer drugs in exchange for your compliance.”

Duncan resists the urge to lean away from her touch. “And if I don’t?” He grits. Mallory's eyes snap up from a piece of lint on his collar. He swallows, “what if I refuse?” A look of unholy glee settles in Mallory's chocolate orbs. “Why Duncan, you’d make my evening.” She leans down to whisper in his ear, “I love to play with my food before I eat it.” Duncan is mortified by the fear and arousal the words stir in his gut. His cock, _the traitor_, twitches in his slacks. The burgeoning erection doesn’t last long though. Between one blink and the next, sharp teeth break the delicate skin of his earlobe. Duncan cries out in pain and jerks himself away from Mallory’s grip on his flesh. She licks his blood off her lips and stands up straight with a smirk. “Kai,” she calls toward the open door. “Mr. Shepherd would like to be persuaded.”

A stone-faced young man with blue hair shuffles into the room with an aluminum carrying case. He passes the case to Mallory and waits for further instruction. “Help Mr. Shepherd out of his shirt would you,” Mallory murmurs, setting the case down on the floor and fiddling with the latch. Large hands fist into the front of Duncan’s shirt and rip the two halves apart. Pearl buttons roll across the floor as Kai moves behind him to yank his suit jacket and ruined shirt halfway down his restrained arms. Cool air dances over his torso.

“Oh, Duncan you’ll enjoy this. I brought one of my favorite toys,” Mallory says. Kai assumes a post at the side of the room, his posture is stiff like an imperial guard. He looks bored but ready to intervene if his mistress should require it. A wide smile stretches Mallory’s lips as she waves a stainless-steel tool in Duncan’s face. He’s never seen anything like it, but instinctively he knows that it’s going to hurt. _Will it be better or worse if I vomit on her Jimmy Choo’s?_

Caressing the wide head of the device, Mallory explains, “this is a Dermatome skin grafter. I acquired it from a back-alley surgeon who thought he’d prey on my girls. If I push this little button here—” the tool emits a harsh buzzing sound “—The motor vibrates the razor blade to increase its cutting power. I can shave millimeters of skin off of you at a time. Isn’t that fun!?” Sweat beads on Duncan’s neck and drips down his back. Mallory frowns. “You’ll have to excuse any inaccuracy, I had to leave the air powered model at home. These electric versions just can’t achieve the same revs per minute.”

“Don’t do this,” Duncan pants. “If you kill me my mother will retaliate.” _God_. How many situations has he wiggled out of by invoking Annette? He would feel disgusted with himself but he’s too frightened to care. Callous laughter fills the room. “Duncan, I’m torturing you instead of killing you out of courtesy to your mother. If I so wish I could have ten other people infiltrate Gardner Analytics and The Herald. But you’re far too valuable of a pet.” Mallory grips his chin hard; Duncan sees a chasm yawn behind her eyes. “All new puppies need to be broken so they can understand their place.”

Mallory lets go of his face and the room spins out of focus. Duncan can hear the tap-tap of high heels and the horrible buzz of that thing. He inhales as a hand grabs the hair at the nape of his neck. He feels slight pressure on his right shoulder blade before white-hot agony erupts in the center of his brain. Blood-curdling screams echo off the walls of the room. _I wish they would stop_. He’s having trouble thinking between the pain in his back and the pounding in his head. He’s unsure how much time passes before the machine powers down. The taste of salt on his lips alerts him to the fact that he’s crying.

Black spots dance in his vision when Mallory’s in his line of sight once again. She’s holding what looks like processed cheese between her fingers. She holds it up to the lights to assess the opaqueness. “Hmmm. I think I’ll have this framed. All that inbreeding has given you Shepherds such beautiful skin,” she muses.

“N-not inbred,” Duncan grunts, struggling to catch his breath. Each heave of his lungs pulls at the edges of his wound. Mallory passes her ‘toy’ and his skin—_Fuck_—to Kai before coming over to straddle his lap. He whimpers as she clasps his shoulders. “That’s right you’re the little cuckoo in the nest.” Their faces are so close he feels her shape her next words against his mouth. “Cuckoo, Cuckoo,” she trills. “You’re going to be a good little birdy and do as I ask. Isn’t that right.”

Duncan’s not sure how much more he can handle. He’s vain enough to want the scarring kept to a minimum. “Yes. Okay? I’ll do it. No more,” he rasps brokenly. As a reward, Mallory presses her lips gently to his. “Good dog,” she whispers. The tenderness in her voice has Duncan’s cock taking an interest again, _fucking hell_, and he watches with humiliation as she notices. “What’s this?” She purrs, rocking her hips against his own. “Does being my pet excite you Duncan?”

Fresh tears well in his eyes as anger rises in his chest. He’s a Shepherd, he’s nobody’s pet. Duncan’s saliva hits her cheek with a wet splat. “No,” he sneers. “Just the proximity of your cunt.” To Mallory’s credit, she doesn’t flinch. A dainty hand wipes the spittle from her face while the other brushes over the garter peeking out from under the hem of her skirt. Breath tickles his damaged earlobe. “Give it time,” she says and plunges a knife into his thigh.

For the second time that evening, Duncan blacks out.

When he comes to again, it’s to the sound of his mother’s screams. He’s laid out on his stomach across the steps of the Shepherd estate. “Mother,” Duncan croaks. “We may have a small problem.”


	2. My Roots, My Roots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Goode sisters' backstory is revealed. Duncan deals with the aftermath of his abduction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternating POV in this chapter. Italics still denote unspoken thought. Beware illicit comma and semi-colon use.
> 
> Link to Cordelia and Mallory's townhouse https://variety.com/gallery/john-krasinski-and-emily-blunt-list-brooklyn-townhouse/krasinskiblunt_bkps2/

Mallory and Cordelia were born into power. The Goodes are an old family of the 7th ward. Their father, John Henry grew up three blocks from the residence of their legitimate business New Life Community: a non-profit social service community operating addictions management programs around D.C. John Henry assumed his father’s mantel of Alpha of the Coven when he was twenty-five years old. He worked hard to have the Goode name known throughout the D.C. underground. Armed with fifty loyal men, he beat back the organizations monopolizing the lucrative drug and flesh trades. The Goodes were done dealing firearms. The Coven became feared and respected. People talked about the new Alpha’s influence and his vision for the 7th ward. And they talked about his wife Constance Langdon.

Constance wielded southern charm like a pick-axe. Her manipulation of D.C.’s biggest and most lecherous players paved John Henry’s way into high society. She’d titter at jokes and flirt until the halfwits were so enamoured, they forgot the rumours about her husband’s drug running and the stories about young girls from poor families being snatched off the streets in the 7th ward. John Henry was soon encouraged to join the city council, so he ran for alderman of his district. People weren’t stupid enough to vote against him.

As young children, the Goode sisters wanted for nothing. Cordelia was encouraged in her intellectual pursuits, while Mallory was provided with the best ballet teachers money could buy. Delia wanted to explore the stars; Mallory wanted to be one.

Constance’s death changed all that.

When people talked about Constance, they didn’t mention her occasional use of a cane or her penchant for long sleeves. They didn’t mention her brittle smile or the dullness of her hazel eyes. John Henry’s sadism was their family’s best kept secret. When his favourite toy broke, it didn’t take him long to replace her. He’d tell them they looked just like her with their golden hair and smooth skin. Big hands would caress Delia’s chin and Mallory’s nose.

It started with an introduction to the locked room. Mallory was six. 

The physical and sexual abuse carried on until Cordelia was sixteen. The day John Henry sealed a twelve-year-old Mallory inside a latex sex bag and watched her struggle for air, Cordelia stabbed him in the heart with his favourite knife and burned their house to the ground. The arson investigator ruled it an electrical fire due to faulty wiring. Delia was a big fan of Charles Steinmetz.

John Henry’s men mourned the loss of their leader but rejoiced that his heir, Cordelia, escaped his fate. The sisters were sent to live with an appointed guardian until Cordelia was old enough to assume her duties as Alpha. Behold Chablis was an old friend of their mother’s. As the only gay member of a coven filled with hardened criminals and street rats, he made it his mission to teach the traumatized girls that even broken things can be fabulous.

Cordelia learned to disguise her intelligence with batted eyelashes and painted lips. She became a diplomat and a puppeteer. She perfected Constance’s detached interest and John’s Henry’s cunning. Mallory was a different story. She had an impressive and troubling proclivity for torture. Cats in various stages of dissection were found in the area around Behold’s house. The neighbour’s children refused to play with her because she made them kneel on metal jacks. She liked the way the hexagonally shaped toys bruised their skin pretty colours.

Scared of what might happen if he tried to repress her gifts, Behold introduced Mallory to Miriam Mead. The stout women was ex-Mossad and John Henry’s Sergeant-at-Arms. Miriam took great pains to instill her passion for wetwork in Mallory. She was quick with a dancer’s grace—the perfect weapon.

In Japanese folklore, Yama Uba—the mountain witch—is said to hunt and eat anyone who is unfortunate enough to cross her path. This is the name the Yamaguchi-gumi gave Mallory when she lobotomized their D.C. boss with a rusty screw driver for smuggling methamphetamine into Cordelia’s city.

\--

Cordelia trusts no one like she does Mallory. She’s stared into her sister’s eyes, urging her silently not to cry out while despicable things were done to her person. Cordelia never made a sound and she made sure Mallory didn’t either; they didn’t give their father the satisfaction. She knows Mallory’s every tick and facial expression, so she’s understandably worried when her baby sister returns to their renovated townhouse and proceeds to stare out the front window like the Lexus parked across the street holds the key to life.

Before Mallory’s abrupt entrance, Cordelia had been perched on a turquoise sofa in their cheerily decorated front room taking her morning tea in blessed silence. She’d sent her after the Shepherd boy fourteen hours ago. Mallory would have alerted her by now if they needed to get rid of a body. _What’s the meaning of this maudlin staring?_ A deep sigh has Cordelia losing her patience. Earl grey ripples against bone white china as she breathes, “out with it Mallory, you’re obstructing my view of the garden with your brooding.”

“A contradiction,” she hears Mallory whisper. Immaculately lined lips twist into a frown. “What? What’s a contradiction?” Cordelia snaps. Her crisp pronunciation seems to shake Mallory out of her reverie. Pivoting on the ball of one foot, Mallory spins toward her. Curious light creeps into her brown eyes as she announces, “Duncan Shepherd has been dealt with.”

Cordelia supresses an eye roll. “I assumed. Do I need to send Kai out with an asphalt scraper and a sponge?” She snarks. It’s Mallory’s turn to frown. She hesitates before responding in a disbelieving tone of voice, “I left him alive. He spit on me. But I left him alive.” Porcelain clinks against the cement top of the coffee table. Cordelia smooths the skirt of her dress and pins Mallory with identical brown eyes. “Really? Don’t tell me Bill’s whipping boy endeared himself to you sister?” That far-away look captures Mallory’s features again. “He screamed so sweetly,” she sighs.

Cordelia’s neither thrilled nor disappointed with this development. Mallory’s boredom has manifested in increasingly violent ways as of late. _I can’t have her chopping off my dealers’ fingers willy-nilly, it’s just not good for business_. It’s been a long time since her sister’s fixation with the Harmon girl. Poor Violet was too soft for Mallory’s type of affection. Cordelia’s heart aches for the damaged little girl who tried to gouge her eyes out with a fork because she didn’t want to see the love in their father’s eyes anymore. She’ll remain neutral on the topic of the Shepherd boy until it interferes with Mallory’s work. _There’s no reason to take her toy away so soon_. She quirks her lips indulgently and says, “well, you’ll have an opportunity to hear them again. Give him sixteen hours to deliver and then remind him of our position.” Mallory’s nod is accompanied by a radiant smile. She practically floats over to the sofa and curls up in Cordelia’s lap. Tucking her head under her big sister’s inherited chin, she murmurs, “thank you, Delia.” Cordelia hums in response and gently rocks the center of her world.

Long after Mallory’s dozed off, Cordelia gazes out of the window and considers the blush of her new tea roses—their mother’s favourite. She remembers spending afternoons gardening in the sun and evenings in front of the television watching Westley describe the depth of his devotion to Buttercup.

“To the pain,” she whispers.

\--

Annette insists that Duncan stay with her at the estate instead of returning to his penthouse. Two of the household staff manage to haul him into the dining room to await the arrival of Annette’s plastic surgeon. Dr. Montgomery agreed to make a house call for twice her consultation rate. Duncan has to laugh when she recommends skin grafts for his injuries. He politely declines. The wound, seven inches long and three inches wide, is cleaned and left to heal by reepithelialization underneath an absorbent dressing. His stab wound requires a measly three stiches. Apparently, he’d been extremely lucky that his attacker missed anything vital. Duncan knows that there was no luck involved; Mallory wanted to maim him not kill him. 

When he retreats to a guest-bedroom to rest, Annette marches down to The Herald and demands that Hammerschmidt throw out the section of the rundown dedicated to Alderman Goode’s use of drug money to fund her re-election campaign. She doesn’t give two shits if it fucks with Bill’s plans. Cordelia went after her boy. She won’t risk him suffering any more at the hands of her brutish sister. As expected, Tom threatens to turn the piece over to The Times and The Informer. He’s caught off guard when Annette slaps her chequebook down and buys exclusive rights to the story on behalf of The Herald. The Editor in Chief sputters and accepts his defeat with poor grace.

In the evening, Duncan rises from his drugged-out sleep to make a phone call to his office. The home line—his mother assures him—is secure. A few slurred words have the ghost files containing the emails moved to an air-gapped computer and couriered to the house to be locked in Annette’s safe. Mallory had said the emails needed to be deleted. She didn’t specify if she wanted them removed from the company server or from existence entirely. Duncan chooses to believe she meant the former. He drifts off again to the sound of Annette and Bill screaming at each other down the hall.

His dreams are hazy with the Oxycodone fogging up his brain. The first features him seated across from Mallory in a living room, watching her stitch his initials into the canvas of his skin stretched across an embroidery hoop. The second finds him in complete darkness. Something awful moves in the abyss. He feels grasping hands reach for his form.

Duncan jerks awake, and terror slicks the skin of his chest. He blows out a breath and turns his face on his pillow, looking for a cool patch of fabric. He finds a pair of luminous eyes instead. A hand darts out to stifle his scream. “Shhhh, pet. There’s no need to be afraid,” Mallory coos. Her free hand strokes his creased cheek as she continues, “I heard you were a good boy today, Duncan. Good dogs—”

He doesn’t wait for her to finish before throwing himself on top of her. They grapple in his sheets, muscles twisting and nails scratching, until he manages to pin her with his knees on either side of her hips and a hand around her throat. Mallory manages the rest of her sentence around the press of his fingers. “-Deserve a reward,” she wheezes as she relaxes into the bed. Duncan’s not fooled by her submission. The flash of a blade in his peripheral vision confirms his suspicions. He dodges her slash and gets solid punch in to her left cheek and nose. Rearing up like a wild thing, Mallory head buts him and rolls them off of the bed to the floor. Duncan lands on top and immediately circles her wrists with his hands. The knife is still clutched in one of her dainty fists. The loud thump of their bodies on the hardwood has him freezing up before more blows can be exchanged. He listens for sound in the hallway, worried his mother might come and investigate the disturbance.

“Relax,” Mallory chokes. “I slipped her a light sedative. She’s face down on the couch in her room.” Duncan heaves a sigh of relief but doesn’t let up on his grip. He runs his eyes over the creature underneath him. She’s dressed like cat burglar with a taste for couture. A black sleeveless mock neck top is tucked into high-waisted leather pants. Sturdy combat boots adorn her feet. “Were you planning to rob the Smithsonian, after your visit here?” Duncan smirks. Mallory bares her teeth and bucks her hips, trying to throw him off. “Fucking bitch!” He grates and slams her back down onto the floor. “Stay down.”

Brown orbs narrow on blue. Duncan can see her calculating her next move. Scrambling for a distraction, he leans down to lick the blood flowing from her nose. The responsive mewl that leaves her lips at the gesture is unexpected. The tension between them tightens abruptly. He pauses, hovering over her mouth. A metallic taste lingers on his tongue.

Mallory makes the first move, surging hard into his parted lips. She drinks from him like a starving woman, biting at his lips and slipping her tongue between his teeth to lick over the roof of his mouth. The knife drops to the floor with a muted thud. Duncan’s awash in sensation. Possessed by her hunger, he releases her wrists to get a handful of her silky hair and seize her hip with his other hand. Slim legs wrap around his hips at his urging and he grinds his rapidly filling cock into her leather covered mound. A particularly hard nip of her teeth has blood beading along his bottom lip. Duncan breaks away to pant against the bruising skin of her cheek. “Ow!” He hisses. “You psychotic, bitch!”

Mallory gnashes her teeth at his ear and rocks into the hard press of his cock through his boxer-briefs. The fingers on one of her hands dance up his naked back to poke at the bandage on his shoulder blade. Duncan’s howls have her eyelids drooping to half-mast in bliss. Enraged, he rips at the buttons on her pants and pushes them down her thighs. _The insufferable whore isn’t wearing panties_. A growl rumbles his chest as he mercilessly spears her slick cunt with two wide fingers. “Fuck,” Mallory breathes. Not one to be idle, she dips a hand into his boxers to fondle his erection. The feel of his foreskin has her eyes lighting up with glee. “My, my pet,” she pants, rolling the extra skin along his shaft up over the flare of his cockhead and back down again. “Maybe I should have taken this skin instead.” Duncan crams two more fingers into her hole in retaliation. His foreskin is a sensitive subject. Being uncut was uncommon amongst his peers at boarding school and he was tormented for it.

Mallory’s rough exhale and the squelching of his fingers are loud in the room. The pinch of fingernails at the skin of his balls has Duncan ripping her hand out of his underwear and forcing the garment down his legs. He trades the fingers at Mallory’s core with his cock. With no consideration for her readiness, he rams home with a single stroke and nails her into the floor.

“Hard,” Mallory begs, as sweetly as she can, “fuck me hard.” Duncan obeys, filling her over and over, plundering her depths root to tip. She thrashes in his arms, undulating into each roll of his hips and panting into the side of his neck. The gust of breath over his jugular has animal fear tightening the coil at the base of Duncan’s spine. He spills deep inside of Mallory with the hot flutter of her walls. Seconds later, she screams out in orgasm, clenching around the rush of his seed. Like their strings have been cut, they collapse side by side on the cool wood of the floor.

\--

Duncan wakes an indeterminable amount of time later to the press of Mallory’s boot over the line of his throat. The rubber of her sole bobs with the movement of his Adam’s apple. Mallory stares down at him and Duncan sees the chasm behind her eyes again before she shutters her expression. “I came here to deliver instructions,” she says stiffly. “Cordelia has a job for you. You’ll find an envelope on your dresser that contains all of the necessary details.” She gestures to the oak side table with the blade of her knife. She runs her free hand through her tawny mane of hair and pulls back the threat of her boot to depart.

“We already did what she asked!” Duncan shouts when his airway is no longer restricted. Mallory rolls her eyes. “You don’t think we’re that stupid, do you? I’m sure you’ve got those emails squirreled away somewhere.” Duncan gulps. “We’d simply like to remind you that we have a recording of you and mother dearest discussing your unlawful hacking of an elected official’s computer. I have no qualms about throwing Gardner Analytics to the dogs. You on the other hand, would hesitate to give the emails to the F.B.I. because it means exposing your family’s actions.” Mallory smirks at Duncan’s constipated expression and moves toward the bedroom door.

She pauses with her hand on the knob and throws one last remark over her shoulder. “Don’t worry about any illegitimate heirs cropping up,” she says casually. “My body’s not fit for breeding.”

The horror dawning in Duncan’s mind settles with her assurance, but he’s certain there’s an equally terrible story behind her last comment. He watches her leave and stews in the mess of his thoughts. _What have I done?_

Once you invite a monster into your bed there’s no keeping them out.


	3. My Blade's a Little Sharper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We dig a little deeper into the plot and the Shepherd family's machinations. Sorry no smut in this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternates between Mallory, Behold and Duncan's POVs. Italics are internal thought.

Her words to Duncan about her infertility were flippant. But remembering anything about her past puts Mallory in a mood to break things. Cordelia doesn’t like her in the house when she’s like this.

The last time this happened, she was compelled to pick up the succulent gardens running the length of the kitchen windowsills and fling them to the floor. This time she takes a baseball bat to a john who beat up two of their girls. The action, as always, is unsatisfying. She leaves the rancid stench of the man’s urine behind her and wanders for a while. Morning finds her sitting on her favourite park bench. She comes here sometimes to watch children from nearby daycares play and to test the sharp edges of her emotions.

Watching a mother push her toddler on the swings, Mallory’s reminded of a quote Ms. Mead had her memorize. _Faithfulness and devotion, things born of fire and roof were his; yet he retained his wildness and wiliness. _Call of the Wild was Miriam’s favourite book. She would tell Mallory that she was shaped to be feral—a killer. Domesticity could only do so much for her. Mallory knows that the confines of parent-hood would have chafed. Still, she can’t part with this ritual. The itch of Duncan’s semen drying between her thighs helps conjure the ghost of a child with golden hair and blue eyes. She savours the image.

Warmth surrounding her battered knuckles lifts Mallory from her waking dreams. She follows the fingers encircling her own up a strong arm to a familiar face. “Jesus, Mal. You come to a playground with a busted face, blood under your nails and—” he leans forward to sniff at her, “—smelling like sex, and people are going to think you’re some kind of pervert,” Kai complains. She sees his eyes sparkle and knows he’s dying to ask. A shake of her head has him holding his tongue. They may be friends, but he knows to tread carefully with her. Especially when she’s not all there. He calls it going on autopilot. _The lights are on but nobody’s home. _Kai coaxes her off of the bench gently and into a waiting SUV with the promise of cookies; Delia started stress baking when she didn’t come home last night. 

If Mallory could feel shame her cheeks would be burning. Doubtless Cordelia anticipated her transgressions with Duncan Shepherd. Her covetous heart had all but leapt from her chest when she remembered the sound of his screams their first night together. A birdy hasn’t sung so sweetly since her dear Violet chased a bottle of Vicodin with whiskey. Mallory fogs the glass of the passenger-side window with a deep sigh at the thought of her dead lover. She remembers tracing her fingers over the tokens of affection permanently etched on Violet’s skin. Remembers cradling her stiff body in the bathtub of the dingy motel room that she’d hidden herself away in. The sad eyed girl was someone Mallory had enjoyed breaking. For a time, Violet had seemed to enjoy it too. _Duncan seems more durable_.

The crack of a can opening has her turning her eyes away from the wraith in the window. Kai extends an arm over the center console and passes her a beer. Mallory accepts the can with numb fingers and raises a brow questioningly. “Hair of the dog,” he says, a sly grin curving his lips. “You’ve already had the jizz of the do—” the stream of his sentence is interrupted by the harsh twisting of his right nipple. “AHH! FUCK, Mallory! I’m driving!” Kai yells. Mallory sips her beer with her pinky out like the lady she was raised to be.

\--

Behold Chablis, Bebe to his children, watches his eldest sling cookies around her kitchen like a deranged soccer mom and scowls. This whole situation reeks of Mallory. He sips the bourbon in his teacup and waits.

When the timer on Cordelia’s snickerdoodles rings, he watches her remove them from the oven and says, “Delia, you better put that spatula down and tell me what that sister of yours has done this time. Are we gonna need to burn some sage?” Cordelia braces her hands, still in oven mitts, on the island counter and chuckles, “have I always been so obvious, Bebe?” It’s a rhetorical question.

“Mallory’s enamoured with our latest problem. I’m worried for the boy. If she breaks this one, the Shepherds will reign hell fire down on us. I need him intact for our plans and our safety. Oh, but you should have seen her smile when she talked about him, Bebe. I haven’t seen a smile like that since the Harmon’s moved into the district.” Behold quirks a brow and considers his response while Cordelia takes a needed breath. “Well chickadee, you might have to ride this one out. Mallory doesn’t surrender her toys so easily,” he reminds her. Cordelia nods stiffly. Any further exchange is halted by Kai and Mallory’s entrance to the house.

They shuffle into the kitchen with Mallory still clutching her empty beer can. She looks half dead with circles under eyes and a nasty bruise blooming on her left cheek.

“Maleficent graces us with her presence,” Behold announces peevishly. Kai stuffs a cookie in his mouth and mutters half-intelligibly, “she had a long night, go easy on her.” Behold narrows his eyes on Cordelia’s lackey. He’s been dealing with this particular jack-booted thug since he followed Mallory home one day. “And now I have to look at your awful roots underneath that drug store dye job. It’s a trying time for all of us, Malakai.”

Kai flips him the bird smilingly, kisses the top of Cordelia’s head and steals another cookie before lumbering away to find a sofa to sleep on. Cordelia had sent him and her best hacker to Gardner Analytics last night to confirm the emails were gone from the company’s public and private servers. At Kai's exit, Mallory plunks herself onto the barstool next to Behold’s and lays her head on his shoulder. “Hi Bebe,” she whispers tiredly.

Behold examines the state of his youngest child and says, “I know I raised my kids to have better hygiene than this, honey.” The words are softened by an affectionate hand smoothing over the crown of her head. “Delia tells me you’ve been herding sheep. Don’t think I believe that a sheep left that mark on your face.” He grasps Mallory’s chin with his hand, tilting her face for her sister’s inspection. Cordelia smiles wryly around a mouthful of tap water. “I didn’t think he had it in him,” she confesses after swallowing. 

The three of them are quiet for a moment as they contemplate the cut of Duncan Shepherd’s jib. Mallory’s eyes appear adoring when she says, “he’s so angry with me.” Behold sucks his teeth and states primly, “you did mutilate the boy.” The remembered joy in Mallory’s voice as she sighs a quiet "yeah," has Behold crossing himself in protection. He’s never been a holy man, but this child could drive even the fiercest queen on Broadway to religion.

Cordelia clears her throat in the ensuing silence and asks, “did you at least deliver the envelope, Mallory?” White teeth crunch through chocolate chips and oatmeal as she gives an affirmative nod. “Excellent,” Cordelia continues, “I imagine we’ll be hearing from Bill Shepherd soon.” 

\--

Duncan doesn’t linger on the floor after Mallory’s departure. He stretches his stiff muscles and groans at the renewed ache in his upper back. Casting a look at the brown envelope waiting on the bedside table, he decides that any further fuckery can wait until the morning. He staggers into the bathroom for a shower, but neither the high-pressure nozzle nor the French milled soap help him feel clean. Steam warms the tile under his forehead and palm as Duncan contemplates his actions. He fucked Mallory Goode against the floor of his mother’s guest bedroom_. I fucked the woman who took my skin as a trophy. __Without a condom_. Bill’s voice sounds in his head calling him a dumbass as he vomits bile onto the shower floor.

Annette had sent her driver for some of his clothes, so Duncan’s armoured in his usual black button-up when he makes the walk down the hall to the dining room the next morning. He holds the brown envelope in one hand and tries to force his expression into something neutral; something that doesn’t say I fucked my hitman.

His mother’s looking a little worse for wear. She’s sitting at the long table with a strong coffee and rubbing her forehead like she had too many gin martinis the night before. Pressing a quick kiss to her cheek, he seats himself in the open chair beside her and comes face to face with his uncle for the first time since his abduction.

Bill squints at him over his newspaper and says, “nice of you to join us, Duncan. I thought you might have been busy this morning making deals with the Goodes behind my back.” His flinch has Annette slamming her coffee cup down and hissing her brother’s name between her teeth. Bill’s eyes roll in their sockets, breaking his flinty stare. “At least you kept your wits about you while the girl was carving you like a honeyed ham. It’s just like you to find your balls when someone’s about to stomp on them,” he snickers. _She likes to pinch them actually_. Duncan passes a hand over his mouth, holding back any untoward comments. “Your mother informs me you’ve kept a copy of the files. That was decent thinking. We need some leverage here. We have to think about our next move since Cordelia’s pissed all over The Herald attack.”

Duncan stares at the reflection of himself in the coffee in front of him and asks, “why do you need this seat on the city council so badly?” He makes eye contact with his uncle and slides the envelope over to him before continuing, “because I’ve got Mallory Goode breathing down my neck and sneaking into the house to leave me instructions while you’re sitting high and mighty thinking you’re still two steps ahead of the game.” Bill frowns as Annette snaps up from her slouched position and turns to Duncan. “She was in my house,” she gasps, horrified and disbelieving, “did she touch you?” Duncan waves away his mother’s concern and lies, “No, I didn’t even know she was here.” The words taste like ashes on his tongue.

Bill rips the envelope open and scans the note inside. Unremarkable typeface streaks across heavy linen paper. “Have you looked at this?” He asks him. Duncan shakes his head no. “Cordelia’s running for mayor. She wants us to promote her campaign. Speaking engagements, public appearances, the works,” Bill explains.

“This is beneath us,” Annette snaps, “blackmail aside, why would we waste our time helping her slither her way to the top of city council?” Bill exhales loudly. “Because I promised some land in the 5thward to the Koch brothers, Annette. They want to build another fertilizer plant, but they can’t get the permits. It’s protected marshland or something. I need an in to the land use office.” Bill pauses for a moment, lost in deep thought. “If Cordelia’s elected mayor her spot in the 7th ward is still up for grabs. This could work,” he muses.

Long fingers steeple under his chin as he leans his elbows on the table. “What’s stopping Cordelia from running for senate if she takes the mayoral position? We may need the bitch on our side. Or have you both forgotten the bigger picture?” He asks, darting his eyes from Duncan to Annette. “Getting Claire to sign the bill is still our top priority.”

Duncan’s chest is heavy. His uncle is digging their graves by suggesting that they entangle themselves further with the Coven. The thought of seeing Mallory again has dread and a lick of heat coiling in his gut. _What the fuck is wrong with me? _She’s more toxic than whatever chemicals the Kochs want to process in the wetlands. The murderous cunt gets his blood up in the worst way possible. Duncan’s had enough people tell him he’s good for nothing but blind obedience. The biggest perpetrator is sitting across from him. 

If Mallory wants him as her pet, he’s going to be the type that bites the hand that feeds.


	4. The Hole You Dug in Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cordelia launches her bid for mayor of D.C. The Goode posse attend a ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternating POV, Cordelia, Duncan and Mallory this time. Italics are unspoken thoughts.

Cordelia announces her bid for the mayor’s seat during her speech at the opening of New Life Community’s first overdose prevention site. The mobile unit is the first of its kind in D.C. and offers supervised consumption and needle exchange services. As anticipated, her support for projects building community capacity and for LGBTQ2S rights have the public eating out of the palm of her hand. The applause from the crowd is exhilarating. Feeling triumphant, she allows an avaricious smile to curve her lips when she cuts the ribbon wrapped around the retrofitted RV.

Cameras flash as she slides into the back of the black escalade idling by the curb. Kai pulls the vehicle smoothly into traffic the moment the door closes. When they roll to a stop at a red light, Mallory tosses the smoldering butt of her cigarette out of the passenger-side window. Cordelia gives her an arch look over the top of her sunglasses. “I was under the impression that you were quitting cigarettes this month, Mallory.” Wordlessly, her sister pushes up the sleeve of her black fur bomber jacket to reveal the four nicotine patches stuck to her arm. Cordelia snorts delicately in amusement. _Of course_. “Are we picking Bebe up?” She asks, meeting Kai’s gaze in the rear-view mirror. “No-p-e,” he says, popping the p, “he’s been holding court at the house with his hoard of hair dressers and makeup artists all afternoon.” _So much for my clean floors_. “If he brought glitter into the house again, I’m going to need you to step on his train tonight Kai,” she mutters darkly. He gives her a jaunty salute and accelerates through the changing light.

They’re attending the Family Matters Charity Ball tonight. She expects that’s when Bill will make his move. She’s laid out her expectations for the Shepherd family’s support, but they still need to talk terms. Cordelia’s keen to get an eye on Duncan again too. It’s been a while since she saw the boy in person. She’s wants to know what’s so special about him to warrant Mallory’s attention. Plus, it’ll be amusing to see them interact in a public space. Mallory told her they’d fucked against the floor of his mother’s house. She’ll have to take her sister’s knives to ensure she doesn’t gank the first cocktail waitress the idiot flirts with.

\--

When they pull up to the Walter E. Washington Convention Center, Kai opens the door for Cordelia and helps her out of the vehicle. He makes sure she’s steady on her four-inch Manolo Blahnik pumps before running around the vehicle to help Behold with his train. Cordelia’s impressed that Behold restrained himself to a bubblegum-hued, one shoulder column gown. The last time they went to an event like this, Bebe stunned in a voluminous tulle dress that required three people to help carry it down the red carpet. She’s kept it simple herself this year, choosing a non-traditional take on a suit with grey gaucho pants and a black bralette underneath a matching blazer. Tucking her blonde bob behind one ear, Cordelia watches Mallory exit the SUV. She all but oozes from the vehicle with unnatural grace. _All that fucking ballet_. She’s wearing her long hair in a slicked back ponytail, leaving her décolletage on display above the plunging neckline of a lurid red bodysuit. A matching pantsuit and silver glitter Louboutin’s elongate the line of her body, giving the illusion of height.

On the way over, Mallory had done a few bumps of cocaine off the blade of a small throwing knife before offering to share with the backseat. Cordelia—needing to keep a clear head— hadn’t indulged. Bebe, on the other hand, was happy to start his evening on a high. Afterwards, Mallory had squirrelled the knife away into a pocket. Cordelia asks for it now. “Mallie,” she says, her gaze stern, “the knife please?” Without complaint, Mallory produces the knife from whatever shadow dimension is sewn into her couture and drops it into Cordelia’s open purse. Her relief at Mallory’s obedience is short lived. “Like I don’t have more,” she snarks, snagging Behold's elbow. They set off down the carpet before Cordelia can rally a response.

Kai chuckles at the WTF expression that’s splashed across her face. He looks rather fetching in a black, trim fit wool and mohair suit. While his tie matches the colour of her eyes, his hair shines a deeper blue in its bun atop his head—Behold had insisted on a fresh bleach and dye job for the occasion. Kai tilts his head questioningly and asks, “You ready, boss?” Cordelia sighs, imagining the posturing that’s about to take place. “As I’ll ever be.” _It’ll be a miracle if no one takes a salad fork to the eye. _

\--

Duncan’s not sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t for the Goodes to roll in looking like they sacked the fashion houses of Paris and Milan. Even their henchman is sporting a bespoke suit. _I wonder what he did with my skin. _The dude looks like he’d be the kind of freak to eat it. His blue hair would stick out like a sore thumb in this crowd of socialites and politicians, but he’s overshadowed by the unwavering boldness of Behold Chablis. Behold has been a source of fascination and scorn for the stuffy White women of D.C. since he started coming to these events with Cordelia. Personally, Duncan appreciates the man’s dedication to his self-expression.

His eyes find Mallory the moment she walks into the room on Behold’s arm. For a few seconds the power of her presence forces every detail on him: an oxblood pout, the severe hairdo, the skin exposed by her top and the brown eyes that hold him as if he’d just spotted water in a desert. Greed kicks through him, a desire to possess that intensity and roll around in it. _Mine_. Dimly, he grasps that stress and emotional fatigue have sent him off the deep end, but It’s been two weeks since her visit in the middle of the night. Two weeks since they’d fucked each other in an attempt at mutually assured destruction. He’s still sick with the sensation of her cunt pulsating around his cock. 

Duncan hates her passionately, yet something inside of him shrivels when she doesn’t look his way.

Downing the rest of his champagne, he sets his glass down on an empty table and moves toward the bar for something stronger. _Its gonna be a long night_.

\--

As Duncan’s focus on her fades, Mallory’s sharpens. Her eyes flicker over the classic black tuxedo he’s paired with a black dress shirt and bowtie. The monochromatic ensemble suits the hardness that came over his face when he spotted her. Waves of dirty blond hair sweep away from his cheekbones, leaving his glacial blue eyes on display. Stubble highlights the fine the cut of his jaw.

Mallory takes a breath. She wants to warm herself with the heat of his loathing. Something about his hatred beats back the rage and loneliness at her core. She’d rather rip him to shreds than keep clawing at the prison of her own psyche.

Cordelia and Kai know she’s on thin ice, but they don’t know the true extent of the damage. Violet’s loss had been devastating. _You push too hard and too fast, no one can withstand that kind of damage so quickly_. That’s what Miriam had always said when she lost control. _The key is to drag out the pain. The death of a thousand cuts. _These days, Mallory has to resist the urge to just end people entirely with the first slash of her knife. Duncan Shepherd—Republican turd that he is—centers her. She feels present in her body when she’s making him squirm in pleasure and pain.

Mallory’s fingers spasm on Behold’s arm, a tiny, quickly controlled pressure. But it’s enough to have Bebe swinging his head around trying to see what’s caught her attention. When he spots Duncan leaning against the bar he hums, “the thirst is real, honey. Do you think that comes in a size extra large and gay?” Mallory’s laugh is lost in the din of polite chatter. “Not unless Annette kept her housekeeper as a broodmare.”

Thanks to her high, Mallory’s feeling lighter on her feet than usual. When the orchestra starts up with the Vienna Blood Waltz, Op. 354 she hauls Behold out onto the empty dance floor. Most of the guests are still milling about the ballroom. Mallory slides them into a tight Viennese Waltz, leading Bebe through the turns with practiced ease.

\--

Duncan’s skin hums with tension as he watches Mallory twirl Chablis on the dance floor. They’re a riot of colour—pink and red clashing brightly. It’s farcical that the city’s most violent criminal is gliding around like some kind of eighteenth-century gentlewoman. His twisted emotions about the youngest Goode shiver on the edge of his teeth. He wants to take a bite out of her to soothe it. 

He recognizes the opening strains of Bahia Blanca as the henchman, _Kai_, cuts in to wrap an arm around Mallory’s slim waist. He spins her away from Behold and into a tango. People stop their conversations to stare at their crisp yet sultry movements. The proprietary way Kai touches Mallory has Duncan’s back teeth clenching around something bitter. _She’s probably fucked him too._

\--

The tip of a whip curls around Mallory’s attention. She turns her head slightly and discovers Duncan watching her from the bar, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. “I think he’s jealous,” Kai whispers into her ear. She smirks at her long-time friend as he throws her into a dip. He runs a hand from her hip up to her rib cage before hauling her firmly into his chest. 

As Kai undoubtedly hoped, the action has Duncan striding across the room and asking to cut in. Her narrowed eyes have Kai graciously bowing out of their dance. She sees him snag two flutes of champagne for Cordelia and Behold as he makes his way off of the floor.

Long fingers that once bruised her wrists in anger clasp her hand and waist gently. “Hello, Mallory,” Duncan murmurs, “lovely to see you again.” He pulls her close to his tall body and starts them off into his own version of an Argentine Tango. “But if you’re here who’s guarding Hades?” She winces as his hand spasms around her own. “Careful pup,” she snaps. The points of her manicured finger nails curve into his shoulder in retaliation. The muscles in Duncan’s arm flex with discomfort, but he maintains his carriage._ Admirable_.

Walking her backwards in an eight-step basic, he slams her into one of the mirrored pillars circling the floor. “What gives you the right to parade around, masquerading yourself like you’re not complete poison?” He seethes. Mallory exhales at the feel of glass crunching behind her back. Awareness of the strength hidden under his black clothes shivers through her, not from fear but from the delicious knowledge of her effect on his control. She stays silent as they make their way back to the middle of the floor. When Duncan plunges her into a low dip, she takes the opportunity to press a blade to his belly under the flap of his open jacket and hiss, “I do what I fucking please. Maybe I should gut you as a reminder.” Blue eyes sweep up and down the length of her body twice, darkening. Mallory curls a lip. _Game on, pet_. 

\--

Cordelia settles in against a cocktail height table to watch the spectacle unfolding between her sister and Duncan Shepherd. It’s the most aggressive tango she’s seen outside of the movies. The boy’s more handsome than she remembers. Perhaps his attractiveness is improved by the anger blazing in his hooded eyes. The fool looks sick and as equally besotted as her sister. _This can only end in blood and tears. _

The sound of a throat clearing jolts her out of her thoughts. Bill Shepherd is a noxious presence at her side. “Cordelia,” he greets her, “I heard about your big announcement today.” He pauses for a sip of champagne before asking, “how exactly do you envision Shepherd Unlimited helping with your campaign?” Cordelia appreciates his forthrightness. Smiling congenially, she responds, “well Bill, there are several non-profits and events that New Life Community supports around D.C. We would love your donation or to see you and Annette at the rally for trans inclusion at George Washington next week.” She watches Bill’s right eye twitch with unconcealed joy. “As lovely as that sounds, how about I put in a good word for you with the Republicans in the 2nd ward. They love a dark horse and they’re currently backing your biggest competitor,” he counters.

A furrow pinches the skin of Cordelia’s brow as she considers the offer. “Fine. But I want a segment on your show. I want to talk about my plans as future mayor, and I don’t want any funny business from Melody Cruz. If you bring the emails into the interview, I’ll send my sister after Annette.” Bill’s Adam’s apple bobs with a swallow. “No funny business,” he agrees.

When Cordelia looks back to the dance floor Mallory and Duncan have disappeared. An ominous crash has her searching for Kai in the crowded room. When they lock eyes, he smiles conspiratorially and sticks a finger through the circle of his thumb and forefinger. _Ugh. I don’t want to know. _

\--

A snarled "get out" is the only warning the staff occupying the kitchen have when they crash into the room with the force of a rampaging rhinoceros. The hors d’oeuvres have long since been served, so there’s only a few dishwashers and busboys that need to bail out of the back entrance and into the alleyway.

The knife Mallory pulled on him lays abandoned in the ballroom, having been kicked under a table during their hasty retreat. Duncan goes for a chokehold, pushing Mallory into a stainless-steel countertop. Déjà vu has him blinking his eyes in the harsh light of the food prep area. Twisting sideways in his grip, Mallory raises her right arm in the air and brings it down hard over his forearms. The action dislodges his hands and gives her an opening to grab a handful of his hair. She slams his face repeatedly into a marble cutting board. Dizzy with pain, Duncan manages to roll out of the way before a glass bowl shatters where his head used to be. 

A cut must have opened over his eye because his vision blurs on his left side. Blood drips from his nose and paints his lips. Mallory runs at him. Duncan braces for an attack, legs spread in a wide stance. He's surprised when Mallory leaps up and locks her arms around his neck. Too bewildered to do anything else, he catches her with his arms crossed under her ass. 

A carnivorous look flashes on Mallory’s face as she leans in to lick the blood from his lips. The reminder of their encounter against the bedroom floor is too much. He whirls her around and pushes her against the door of a fridge. Pressed together from chest to groin, he grinds his erection against her cunt. Mallory’s head falls back, no muscles left to resist. He takes her mouth with a graze of teeth and a questing tongue. They steal air from each other’s open mouths, tongues tangling wetly. Needing more contact, Duncan slips a hand into her top and caresses a breast tenderly before pinching her nipple. Mallory mewls and tugs his hair hard enough to have tears springing to his eyes.

Chocolate orbs heavy with need fix on his face as she grinds against his cock, rocking in a counter rhythm to his hips. His hand finds the zip on her pants. He presses his fingers in through the tight fit of the garment, slipping down to play with her folds. He appreciates how the juice of her cunt has already soaked through her bodysuit. “God, I wish you weren’t such a bitch,” he breathes, squeezing his hand over her sex. Mallory’s teeth are blindingly white when she grins. “You like it,” she pants, “you like being my punching bag.”

Duncan shuts her up by stroking a thumb over her clit. With each brush she whimpers and writhes, clutching at him with her small hands. He runs a finger along the fabric between her legs and presses hard over her entrance. He barely penetrates her, but Mallory comes with almost the first thrust. Shattering helplessly in his arms, she curves her face into his neck and bites down.

“For fucks sake!” Duncan yells. Mallory clamps her teeth hard enough to draw blood. _Another scar_.

After a moment, she releases him from her jaws and drops her legs down from his back. A shove of her hand to his solar plexus has the air whooshing from his lungs. Duncan staggers back, winded and delirious.

Mallory laughs in pure, utter triumph and kicks him square in the balls.


	5. Sunk Me in Your Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV alternates between Duncan and Cordelia. We learn a little bit more about the other members of the Goode family. 
> 
> Thank you to Chekhovs_Power_Loader for creative assistance with this chapter.

Because Duncan’s life is bullshit, his mother is the one to find him kneeling on the floor of the kitchen.

“Duncan?” comes Annette’s voice from behind a swinging door, “are you back here? Mrs. Weymouth said she saw you leave with a woman.”

_At least my pants are done up_.

She pushes through the door, takes one look at him and shrieks, “oh my god, Duncan. Your face!”

He tries to smile, but the swelling in his cheek makes it more of a grimace. “Is it that bad?”

Annette drops to her knees in front of him. “Who did this to your beautiful face?” 

Duncan opens his mouth to respond but she cuts him off, “never mind, this has Cordelia written all over it. Fucking Bill! This is all his fault! If he hadn’t started you on that app, none of this would have happened!”

He groans when her fingers press a little too hard over a cut on his forehead. “Oh, I’m so sorry baby. We need to get you out of here. The last thing we need is people gawking at you like this,” she breathes. 

His mother smuggles him out of the convention centre with ease. A few snapped words into her cellphone have a vehicle pulling up outside of the back door the kitchen staff used to flee.

Her driver spirits them away in a black sedan.

Duncan leans his head against the window and enjoys the feel of the cool glass against his busted face. Eyelids dropping with fatigue, he’s slow to register the flashing red and blue lights that illuminate the vehicle.

The driver pulls them to a stop beside the curb. “Fuck,” Annette says, “what now?”

The police officers are straight to the point. They shine their lights in Duncan's face and ask him his name, before removing him from the car. He’s thrown on the ground and frisked.

They pull something from his jacket pocket, but he can’t see what it is.

“Duncan Shepherd, you’re under arrest for possession of an illegal substance. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law,” a cop drones.

The rest of the Miranda warning is drowned out by the buzzing in Duncan’s ears. _Illegal substance?_

As handcuffs are secured around his wrists,it dawns on him bright and clear that Mallory must have slipped something into his pocket and tipped off the police. 

“This is preposterous,” his mother yells, “can’t you see he’s injured. Whatever you think you’ve found it isn’t his. Do you know who we are? Do you!?”

Duncan can’t think with all of her shouting.

“Mom, just let them take me. Call Bill,” he says.

An officer ducks his head for him when he moves toward the back of the cruiser. He mouths an I love you at her before they close the door.

\--

There wasn’t enough cocaine in the baggie the police pulled from his jacket for them to charge him with intent to sell. The judge lets him off with a $20,000 fine and ninety hours of community service.

Annette’s apoplectic when she reads the headlines. ‘Shepherd Heir Off the Deep End,’ is the mildest of the bunch.

Duncan forbids her from retaliating against Cordelia. Whatever trouble they cause, the Goodes will repay tenfold. They just need to keep their heads down and ride out the mayoral race.

Annette makes Bill attend the trans inclusion rally at George Washington in recompense.

\--

Bill’s navy Patagonia sweater and chinos look out of place among the students sporting colourful variations of the trans-pride flag on their clothing and skin.

He bats away the hands that try to apply temporary tattoos to his face and neck, but agrees to hold the ‘protect trans students’ sign Cordelia gives him.

She assumes that his change of heart about the rally has something to do with the stunt Mallory pulled the night of the ball. On the way home, her sister had been beside herself with laughter. She didn’t spill the beans about what she’d done until Bebe threatened to hold her down so Kai could give her a wet willy. 

The Coven’s been staying alert for any signs of retaliation from Annette, but so far things have been quiet.

Mallory had been reprimanded for her impulsivity with laundry duty at New Life Community. 

Regardless of Bill’s reason for being here, Cordelia’s determined to enjoy this day with her family. His discomfort is an added bonus to the festivities. Bebe and Miriam have been gearing up for the rally for weeks. Her solarium has been uninhabitable with all of the paint and cardboard the two hauled in to make their signs.

Bebe had been worried that Miriam wouldn’t make it back to D.C. from New Orleans in time for the event, but she’d managed to take out the leader of the Metz Gang and make her return flight as scheduled. She stands now on the front lawn of the university holding her ‘protect trans kids’ sign proudly in one hand. Teetering in his five-inch heels, Bebe clutches his wife’s other hand for support. Their romance—transcendent of gender, sexual orientation and murder—is truly one for the ages.

Cordelia and Mallory are both sporting t-shirts and body paint in support of their adoptive parents. Mallory’s leading a group of students in a trans rights are human rights chant.

She’s already received a warning from campus police about spitting on the transphobes that are voicing their displeasure adjacent to their gathering. If Cordelia can keep her from committing outright assault, she’ll count this day as a win for good press.

\--

Its official. Duncan hates community service. Picking up trash for twelve hours along the side of the road is almost worse than torture. He would know.

The sun is hot and his orange overalls don’t fucking breath. He’s had a nasty case of swamp-ass brewing for the last six hours.

The cherry on top of the shit sandwich is the teenage girl in the group of low-level convicts out here with him. She plunked herself beside him on the bus over and proceeded to tell him every piece of gossip about his family that’s ever been published in the last ten years. Now she’s trailing five paces behind him, pretending that she’s not blatantly checking him out. _Ugh. I need a drink_.

He’d flushed his pain pills and scotch down the toilet when he’d made bail. He’d been mildly high the night he fucked Mallory and more than a little tipsy when he’d gotten her off at the ball.

Duncan’s determined to stay away from mind altering substances. Emotions are best untangled with a clear head. Or that’s what his therapist tells him.

He hasn’t told his Annette mandated shrink the full extent of his fuck up, but he gets the feeling that she’s sussed something out. The grey-haired woman had suggested that he try dating.

None of Duncan’s encounters with the fairer sex have come anywhere close to ‘dating.’ His family’s wealth makes it hard to forge meaningful connections. And he’ll throw himself into traffic before he dates one of the prudish women his mother would like to set him up with. 

No, he’s a connoisseur of high-class call girls. _Or I was_.

He hasn’t had the time or the inclination to arrange for any of his regulars to visit him since this thing with the Goode’s went down. The injuries to his face and back were a good excuse at first. But it’s been three weeks since he resembled raw meat. He’s forced to admit that he has an unhealthy attachment to Mallory Goode.

In their second session, he confessed to his therapist that he’d kind of liked the abuse he suffered because it gave him permission to be violent in return. Passive-aggressive behaviours are part and parcel of being a Shepherd.

Trying to strangle Mallory had been strangely freeing.

Now, all of his fantasizes seem to have her face. He can’t jerk off without thinking about her teeth in his neck.

_Fuck_. Duncan forces the image from his mind. This really isn’t the time to be ruminating on his sexual hang-ups. The last thing he needs to do is pop a boner and have Gossip Girl thinking her attention is appreciated.

\--

The minutes drag on the elevator ride up to his penthouse. 

Duncan’s exhausted. All he wants to do is soak in his jacuzzi tub, watch the episodes of Real Housewives on his DVR, and eat the two boxes of girl guide cookies he’d been guilted into buying outside of Gardner Analytics; the troop leader in human resources knew his weakness for thin mints. 

When he’s through the door he peels off his sweaty t-shirt and throws it over the back of his couch. A yawn cracks his face. He pauses to appreciate the view from his living room widows.

He's mid-stretch when he realizes that the low hum he’s hearing doesn’t belong to his refrigerator.

A feeling of foreboding chokes him.

He grabs the biggest knife in his butcher block. Slipping off his shoes, he creeps through his bedroom door on socked feet.

The bathroom light is on. The sound of jets is clear over a dripping faucet. He counts to ten and bursts into the en-suite with a firm shove of the door.

What he finds inside has him lowering the arm with the knife.

He sighs, “what the fuck. Is this Fatal Attraction? You make a shitty Glenn Close.” 

Mallory lifts a handful of bubbles and blows them in his direction. She’s shoulder deep in his tub with one slim leg thrown over the edge. The toes of her other foot are making ripples in the water. Duncan’s never been more thankful for his mother’s bubble bath fetish.

All that stands between his eyes and her nakedness is a thin layer of suds. The bare skin of her leg taunts him.

“Why are you here, Mallory? Have you come to gloat? For another shot at my testicles?” he asks, affecting a nonchalant slouch against his vanity. “Cordelia should have received the information about her interview by now. It’s not scheduled for another two weeks.”

Mallory teases a hand against the skin of her chest and looks up at him from under her the fan of her lashes. “I have something important to tell you.” She pauses to lick her lips.

“Orange really isn’t your colour.”

In one motion, Duncan drops the knife and lunges forward to pull her out of the tub. She fights him, of course.

Mallory gets in a glancing blow to his jaw before he can turn and drop her on the marble countertop in the space between his double sinks. The feeling that courses through him when he backhands her is pure elation.

“They have me picking garbage,” he snaps.

Mallory coos and spreads her legs in response. _This fucking whore_.

Gagging for a taste of her, Duncan sinks to his knees and buries his head in her cunt. He licks along her folds and groans. _Ambrosia_. He works his way along her slit with slick swipes of his tongue, a hint of teeth and a prickle of beard. When he reaches the apex of her thighs, he latches onto her clit and sucks until she’s lifting her hips to grind into his mouth and nose. 

Mallory pulls him to his feet by the roots of his hair before he can make her come. Sharp nails rake his chest as she kisses her arousal from his lips.

Duncan breaks away to pant into her neck, “Fuck you. I was doing fine without you.”

“Bullshit,” she mutters, undoing his button and pushing his jeans and boxers down his hips. She grabs his erection firmly. “You missed me.”

Duncan slaps her hand away and hauls her forward by the backs of her thighs. Mallory’s head hits the vanity mirror with a sharp crack. 

She’s still disorientated when he enters her with a firm thrust. The muscles of her cunt tighten around the intrusion and relax. Brown eyes fall shut. 

“Yessss,” she hisses, “do it. Fill me with your come.”

Duncan needs no further encouragement. He ruts between her legs without finesse, jarring her small body with rough strokes of his cock.

Ripe berries bounce in his vision when he presses his forehead to her chest. He takes a pink jewel in his mouth and sucks, tearing a whimper from Mallory’s lips.

“You pathetic slut,” he slurs, “you need this as much as I do.”

Anger shimmers in the slits of her eyes. Duncan angles his hips and hammers hard into her upper wall. Nails shred his back.

“If I’m just a punching bag—UH—then you’re nothing but a come towel,” he gasps.

Back arched in pleasure, Mallory clamps down hard around him and comes with a silent scream.

A handful of thrusts later, Duncan spills inside of her. His seed is an insult to her barren womb.


	6. Thank You for Being so Obscene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goode family shenanigans. Cordelia has her interview.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternating POV. Warning for mentions of past abuse and violence.

Like the weirdos they are, they lounge on Duncan’s bed and demolish his thin mints over three episodes of Real Housewives.

They don’t really talk.

Occasionally one them grunts for the other to pass the cookies or snorts at something on the television, but that’s the extent of their post-coital conversation. Mallory drops approximately 10,000 crumbs in his bed before she leaves. 

\--

Mallory leaves the lights off in the kitchen while she roots around in the fridge.

When she turns around with the milk in her hand, Miriam’s sitting at the island watching her.

“You’re in late,” she says.

Mallory shrugs, feigning indifference. “Things ran late at the wharf. Semyon kept me waiting. Shouldn’t you be asleep Ma?”

“Pull the other one, Mallory. You were a shit liar when you were a child and you’re a shit liar now,” Miriam bites.

Flinty eyes squint at her face. Mallory bares her teeth.

“The nerve damage in my fingers and the scarring in my uterus are certainly proof of that.”

Miriam’s face softens with remembered sorrow. Mallory only tried to tell a neighbour about the abuse once. Her resulting injuries and infection had kept her in the hospital for weeks.

Miriam sighs, “I’m just worried about you kiddo. If you want to fuck Duncan Shepherd, go ahead. Just don’t put yourself in a position that you can’t fight your way out of. Cordelia can’t have you hesitating just because you’re soft for the boy.”

Mallory turns her face away from her mentor. She ruthlessly supresses her tears at the disappointment in her voice. “Understood.”

Before she can excuse herself, she’s wrapped in a warm embrace.

She buries her head in Miriam’s shoulder, breathing in her amber and vanilla tobacco scent.

“You’re my special girl. I want every happiness for you. But this family needs you, Mallory. Don’t you ever forget,” Miriam says. 

Ma leaves her standing in the dark with the milk carton dangling from the numb fingers of one hand.

She shouldn’t have lingered at Duncan’s. It was stupid to think she could have something so domestic.

Watching television with him had been a novel experience. Violet had never wanted to just be with her. She was too busy chasing her next high—inciting Mallory’s rage or injecting the Coven’s filth into her veins.

Mallory needs to be more careful. Her actions tonight eliminated any distance she put between herself and Duncan with his arrest. Emotion shouldn’t have her pursuing his affections. She’s not the one on the leash.

And as he so kindly put it, he’d been doing just fine without her.

\--

Kai doesn’t question it when Mallory crawls into his bed.

She snuggles into his side and lets the tears from earlier fall. He rubs comforting circles into her back.

“I hope you showered before you came in here. I don’t want eau de billionaire in my bed,” he grouses. 

She smiles into his shoulder. “Don’t worry, I took a bath.”

“Did you boil his bunny too?” Kai snickers, poking her in the ribs. She squirms away from the touch.

“He made the same joke.”

Her best friend stares at her very seriously. “I need you to put a bullet between my eyes Mallory. I must be slipping if I have the same sense of humour as Skin Tag Shepherd.”

Mallory laughs. “What did you even do with his skin anyways?” She’d expected Kai to toss it when they were done dumping Duncan’s body, but she’d never seen him do it.

“Ah, it’s in safe keeping. I figure I might be able to sell it on E-Bay one day.”

Mallory drifts off wondering about Kai’s definition of ‘safe keeping.’ He discourages snooping by keeping his room in a carefully curated state of disarray.

\--

She learns the answer to her question a week later at Bebe’s birthday celebration.

They have dinner as a family and open presents over some ridiculously expensive champagne Cordelia had insisted on buying for the occasion.

Her sister’s been in a generous mood with the recent surge in support from wealthy donors in the 2nd ward. She’d had a pizza party for the staff at one of their drug processing facilities the day before. And this morning she gifted each of their girls with a new taser and a day at the spa.

Behold coos over the framed picture that Mallory gives him as a present. It’s a photo of her and Cordelia dressed up as Sonny and Cher on their first Halloween together as a family. Cordelia rocked a long black wig and gown while Mallory looked distinguished in a moustache and leisure suit. 

Bebe passes the photo to Miriam when Kai hands him a small box.

A custom billfold stamped with the Goode family seal sits inside the package.

“Oh, wow. Malakai this is gorgeous. Wherever did you have this made?” Behold asks.

Kai’s mysterious smile could put the Mona Lisa’s to shame. “I know a guy who does custom leather work.”

The words have Mallory’s eyes darting from Kai’s face to the wallet. They know the same guy.

Bebe rubs a thumb over the spine of the wallet before opening the flap to take a look inside.

“There must have been a flaw in the hide,” he hums. “There’s a spot here on the inside—”

Horror warps Behold’s joyful face when he realizes.

“DO NOT TELL ME THIS A FRECKLE!?” he screams.

Kai starts backing out of the room. “I won’t tell you then.” 

He gets a ten second head start while Behold removes his shoes and earrings. “You better run you little blue-haired shit. I’m gonna beat your ass like I did Lady Bunny in 1985.”

Cordelia cringes when Bebe smashes the end of the empty champagne bottle on the coffee table. He gives chase with his weapon as she shouts, “no blood on the carpet!”

\--

Duncan’s the one to brief Melody for her interview with Cordelia. She’d been a part of the four-person offensive team that he’d discussed the hacked emails with. He explains the situation the best he’s able to.

Bill told him to feed her some bullshit about the emails being falsified. But Melody’s smarter than the average TV personality. She seems to be having trouble accepting his about-face.

“What do you mean the emails were garbage? They were verified, Duncan. I read the report from the head of IT,” she says.

Duncan narrows his eyes. “We believe he falsified the emails and the IP address. He was a plant for Claire, hoping to catch us with our dicks in our hands. Thankfully, we caught on before we leaked the story.”

Melody accepts his version of events, but her expression says she’s still suspicious.

“Are you alright?” she asks. “I read the headlines, but I don’t know what to believe. You don’t exactly seem like the type.”

He flashes a crooked grin. “The type? To use cocaine or get caught?”

Melody’s pupils dilate. She leans closer to him in her chair beside him. “The dangerous type,” she whispers flirtatiously. “I heard you were in a fight beforehand too. That they broke your pretty face. You know I like a man with battle scars.”

Duncan chuckles nervously. “Not as much as the person who gave them to me.” 

Objectively Melody’s an attractive woman. He’d returned her flirtation a time or two out of boredom, but she does nothing for him now. 

Her hand lands on his thigh as the door to the conference room opens.

\--

Mallory freezes at the sight in front of her.

The TV anchor, Melody Cruz, has her hand on Duncan’s leg.

At her entrance, the woman retracts her hand and sits back in her chair. The fuck me eyes she’s still sending Duncan’s way has something sour curdling in Mallory’s gut. 

Mallory moves to the left of the doorway at Cordelia’s gentle nudge to her waist. She leans against the wall and listens to the entire pre-interview meeting without registering a word.

She doesn’t look at Duncan.

His eyes cling to her like wet peaches when Cordelia and Melody are talking.

The affectionate way the other woman’s lips curve around his name has her reaching for the knife in her pocket before she realizes what she’s doing. _Get a grip_.

Mallory sings Do-Re-Mi in her head until the urge to stab first and ask questions later retreats; she’d idolized Julie Andrews as a kid.

When the meeting’s over, Mallory accompanies Cordelia to the hair and makeup room. She stays there to watch the start of the interview when a staffer whisks Cordelia away and into the studio.

\--

Seeing Mallory again in the light of day had put Duncan off balance during the meeting. She’d refused to make eye contact despite his repeated efforts to get her attention.

He knows he should stay away, but he can’t stop himself from cornering her when she lingers in the guest prep area.

She’s staring into the mirror running the width of the wall when he walks in.

“It must not be true that if you give a mouse a cookie they’ll set up shop in your house. If it were, you would have popped out of my pantry by now,” Duncan jokes, trying to break the tension in the room.

Mallory’s gaze in the mirror doesn’t waver. “Have you fucked her?” 

Duncan frowns, confused. “Fucked who? Melody? No, she’s an employee.”

Mallory nods to herself. Rising from her chair, she walks toward him until they’re toe to toe in the middle of the room.

Fingers press into the scar on the side of his neck. Her brown eyes are intense. “You’re mine. Don’t ever forget.”

She kisses him possessively, pillaging his mouth without mercy. His lips sting from her teeth.

When Duncan opens his eyes, he’s alone. 

_What the fuck was that?_

\--

Everything goes smoothly until the last ten minutes of Cordelia’s segment. 

Her comments about pursuing effective change for the city’s drug and homelessness problems are too much for Melody to take.

She brings up the rumours about John Henry’s involvement in the drug trade and attacks Cordelia’s defence with underhanded comments about her mother’s untimely death.

Constance fell from the second storey balcony of the Goode family's home; John Henry was investigated but cleared as a suspect.

Melody nails her own coffin by insinuating that Cordelia’s leadership style doesn’t fall far from the family tree.

\--

Melody makes her way across the parking lot with a smile on her face. It had been fun to see that bitch flounder for a response to her accusations.

She’d gone completely off script. Duncan will probably yell at her tomorrow. _Worth it_.

She’ll worry about it later. Right now, there’s a half full bottle of wine in her fridge with her name on it.

Melody slides into the front seat of her car and sticks her keys into the ignition.

She doesn’t see the garrote until it’s around her neck.

\--

The interview was a complete fucking disaster.

And it was live, so they can’t even re-tape.

Cordelia had stormed out of the studio before he could even attempt damage control. Bill’s going to kill him. More importantly, Mallory’s going to kill him.

Duncan finally falls asleep at 5:30am clutching a meat tenderizer under his pillow.

He jolts awake at 10:30am to the faint sounds of a passing ambulance. His mouth is practically glued shut from the dry mouth the adrenaline in his system had caused.

He rolls out of bed to check his phone, absent mindedly brushing crumbs from his cheek. He’s still finding them even after changing his sheets. Twice.

Duncan has five missed calls from his mother and three from Bill.

He’s dialing Annette when he pulls his fridge open to grab a bottle of water. 

Melody Cruz’s head sits beside his outdated mustard, staring at him lifelessly.

Annette’s voice sounds tinny coming from his phone’s speaker on the floor. 


	7. Swimming in the Mud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duncan deals with the fallout of Melody's murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. Sorry for leaving you on that cliffhanger and for the last lacklustre update. I needed a few days away from this story to figure out where I was going next and to get my mojo back. Hopefully I've delivered. Sorry not sorry about the ending to this one XOXO

Duncan stumbles back from the open fridge and into a lake of blood.

Slipping, he goes down hard on his tailbone and elbows. Red paints his legs and arms and back. The smell of iron is cloying in the air. Bile crawls up his throat. He resists the urge to vomit by taking gasping breaths in through his mouth.

Annette's yelling into the phone now. Duncan grabs the device with blood-slick fingers and manages to crawl his way over to a bare patch of floor.

“Mom,” he cuts in with a strained whisper. “I—I’ll call you back. I have to—I have to call the police. Melody’s been murdered.” He hangs up before she can respond.

Duncan doesn’t remember calling 9-1-1. 

He’s unaware of how much time passes. The next thing he registers is the sound of his front door opening and multiple voices shouting. Shiny black shoes appear in his line of vision_. Huh. _Distantly, Duncan realizes that the concierge must have let the police in because he’s still sitting on the floor. The blood he’d fallen in is drying uncomfortably against his skin.

The police sweep the apartment. They confirm that there’s no assailant or weapon in the immediate area before moving to assess his condition. Someone calls in to report the body and radios for an ambulance. He feels a shock blanket being dropped over his shoulders before he slips completely into a catatonic state. 

\--

Duncan’s taken to the nearest hospital and assessed. When he’s medically cleared, two officers with forensic kits come in to take DNA samples from his body. They photograph the bruises starting on his back and elbows, swab the inside of his cheeks, scrape under his fingernails, fingerprint both of his hands and bag his blood-stained underwear. Afterwards, a nurse gives him a hospital gown and two pills for anxiety. He dry swallows them in his desperation for calm.

His mother arrives at the hospital as he’s being discharged. An officer tells him that he’s free to go for now, but they’ll need him to come down to the station for questioning later this afternoon.

For once, Annette doesn’t complain. Her mouth is drawn in a deep frown and she keeps touching his face like she needs to reassure herself that it wasn’t his head in the refrigerator. She holds her silence until they’re safely bundled into the back of a vehicle and speeding off toward her house. Duncan had been warned the he wouldn’t have access to his apartment until it was cleared as a murder scene. Right now, a team of techs were rifling through his possessions and cataloguing any pieces of evidence they could find.

“I called Cordelia,” Annette says.

Duncan whips his head around at her words. “What?! Why? They did this!”

Annette hums. “I’m not so certain. Cordelia was surprised to hear about Melody. She denied arranging her death.”

“So what, we’re just supposed to believe that it's a fucking coincidence that her interview tanks and Melody's severed head is getting chummy with my condiments hours later!?” Duncan laughs, sounding close to hysterics. “I’m their patsy!” He pauses to run a hand over his face. “They’ve already tried to have me locked up. This time they’re trying to make it stick.”

“Calm yourself before you wind up needing to be sedated.” Annette sighs. “Apparently, her sister acted alone in planting the cocaine. It was never Cordelia’s intention to have you put in jail. She sounded disturbed by this whole investigation. I think she just doesn’t want you in a position to give her or Mallory up to the police. She offered to arrange legal counsel for you and I accepted.” 

Duncan’s head hurts.

_You’re mine. Don’t ever forget._

Were Mallory’s words a goodbye? A warning?It makes no sense that she would want him locked away after she’d so plainly staked her claim. But who else would have a reason to cut off Melody’s head and turn his apartment into a forensic investigator’s wet dream? There’s no denying that she’s sadistic enough to do it. _Fucked in the head is what she is_. But he’d thought they were getting somewhere. That they’d cemented an unsteady truce over cookies and shitty reality television.

He blows out a breath. _This is why I don’t date._

\--

If there's one thing Behold hates about filling in for the receptionists at New Life Community’s head office, it's answering the phones.

“Hello, you’ve reached New Life Community. How may I direct your call?” he drawls into the mouthpiece.

Unintelligible yelling fills his ear. “Ma’am kindly do not take that tone with me. Now I’m gonna need you to repeat your request.”

“Put Cordelia on the phone!” the woman hisses.

Behold cocks a brow. “And just who should I tell her is calling?”

“You can tell her Annette Shepherd’s got her finger on the trigger and that I will hail a world of fucking hurt down on her IF SHE IS NOT ON THIS PHONE IN THE NEXT FIVE SECONDS!”

“Mrs. Shepherd, how lovely to hear from you. Allow me to connect your call,” Behold says, punching in the numbers for Cordelia’s office line. 

He stays on the call until he hears Cordelia pick up. Putting the phone down, he moves out from behind the reception desk to flip the lock on the front door. The blinds in the windows are already closed against the glare of the morning sun. Delia’s frowning when he slips into her office. Miriam’s already perched in a chair in front of her desk, listening in. 

The conversation lasts a total of three minutes.

Cordelia hangs up the receiver with a look of trepidation hovering around her eyes and lips. 

“What?” Behold asks impatiently. “What mess are we in now?”

Cordelia clears her throat and leans back in her chair. “Melody Cruz is dead. Duncan Shepherd found her head in his apartment this morning. The police are waiting to question him later this evening.” An unspoken implication hangs in the air. 

“We don’t know it was Mallory who did this,” Miriam says.

Cordelia shakes her head. “What else am I supposed to believe? If it wasn’t you then it had to be her. She’s already taken her own initiative with the boy once. I saw her looking at Melody before the interview. Mal was jealous. She didn’t like the way Melody was fawning all over Duncan.” 

Behold sinks onto a sofa across the room. “We should hear what Mallory has to say before we start pointing fingers.” 

“If you can reach her Bebe, by all means. But I’ve been trying to call her all morning and it’s gone to straight to voicemail each time,” Cordelia replies.

Miriam’s spine stiffens in reaction. “Is Kai with her?” she asks, her tone harsh with urgency.

Cordelia shakes her head no. “He was meeting with the Triad this morning. He won’t be back until 3:00pm.” 

“Call him back here now. Mallory knows better than to ignore your calls.”

“You think somethings happened?” Behold asks his wife. 

Miriam’s blue eyes are serious when they meet his. “That girl is many things, but modest isn’t one of them. If she killed Melody, we wouldn’t have heard about it from Annette Shepherd.” She turns back toward a now visibly worried Cordelia. “Get that pencil-dick guy of yours running a trace on her phone.”

It’s a sign of how concerned Cordelia is that she, the consummate professional, doesn’t even protest the use of inappropriate nicknames.

\-- 

Duncan gets a call to head down to the DC Police Special Liaison Branch at 2:45pm. He’d managed to dose off for a few hours in emotional exhaustion, but he’s back to feeling wired as he’s escorted down a hallway and into a bland looking interrogation room.

It’s not long before a tall blonde is pushing through the door and settling into the seat across from him.

“Duncan Shepherd, I’m Detective Misty Day. I’ll be leading this investigation moving forward.”

Duncan swallows. “Detective.” 

She smiles in acknowledgement of his greeting. “I understand that you told officers you headed home around 11:00pm and were sleeping prior to the discovery of Ms. Cruz’s remains.” When he nods she continues, “is there anyone who can confirm that you didn’t leave your apartment between the hours of 11:00pm and 10:30am?” 

The question puts Duncan off. “The concierge and the doorman maybe. I live alone. Why? What’s this about?” 

“Mr. Shepherd my techs pulled your thumbprint from Ms. Cruz’s cheek. They also found traces of your DNA in a bag of bloody clothes they fished out of a dumpster behind your news studio. At this moment, you’re our prime murder suspect.” Detective Day lets that bomb marinate for a moment. When he doesn’t respond she says, “now, I don’t know about you, but I think it’s a little fishy for a man such as yourself to suddenly start murdering his employees. I also think it’s strange that Mallory Goode was seen leaving your apartment two weeks beforehand.”

She puts her hands on the table and leans in toward Duncan. “I’ll level with you Mr. Shepherd. I don’t think you’re capable of this type of violence. Ms. Goode, however, is someone I could see doing this. If there’s anything you need to tell me about your association with the Goode family, now’s the time to do it.”

Before Duncan can rally a response, the door to the interrogation room is swinging open.

“That’ll be all for today Misty. My client has no comment until he’s had a chance to confer with his legal counsel. Unless he’s being charged with something right now, we’ll be on our way.”

Duncan takes in the woman in front of him. She’s short with a cheery looking face, but her confidence makes her more intimidating than her appearance suggests. “Who are you?” 

“Pleased to meet you Mr. Shepherd. I’m Regina March, attorney at law. But you can call me Queenie.” 

\-- 

Mallory's return to consciousness is abrupt. She immediately recognizes the cold clasp of restraints. She's handcuffed to a chair. _How fitting_. Looking around, she tries to make out any details of the room she's being kept in. The shadows are too thick to see anything but the faint outline of a drain in the floor to her left.

Breathing through her nose at a measured pace, Mallory prepares to dislocate her thumb and slip the cuffs around her wrists.

She's just tensing her forearm when a voice rings out, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Mallory.” 

She freezes. Memory overtakes her. Swivelling her head to the right she sees a familiar face emerge from the shadows.

“Hayden,” she greets, tone masking her surprise. “Last I heard you were in prison.” 

Her old friend smiles enigmatically and levels a gun at her chest. 

“Ben Harmon sends his regards.”


	8. Never Coming Clean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scooby and the gang race against the clock to find Mal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Graphic depiction of torture. Do not read if you are squeamish or have issues with claustrophobia. 
> 
> All mistakes are my own as always. Lots of POV switches so sorry if something doesn't make sense.

Mallory feels her arm fracture as the bullet lodges itself in her shoulder. All of the air in her lungs exits with the force. She jerks back against the chair and resigns herself to a very long evening. Hayden doesn’t miss. She wants to drag this out. She’d always liked an audience. 

She has time to breathe in and out before another bullet lodges in her left thigh. _Fuck_. It missed anything vital if the sluggish gush of blood down her leg is any indication. 

“Bitch,” Mallory wheezes, “I liked these pants.” _At least my shoulder isn’t hurting anymore_.

Hayden chuckles. “You never could pull off leather pants. You always ended up looking like the world’s smallest cat-burglar.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that? I’m clearly serving—AH—Faith energy in these p-pants.” Mallory’s head hangs down under the weight of the pain. Her chin digs into her chest.

Hayden prowls forward and grabs a handful of her hair, yanking her head back up. Brown eyes clash. “You still five-by-five there, pal?”

Mallory shows her teeth. “Peachy,” she bites.

The redhead sticks a gloved finger in the hole in her shoulder and wiggles it around. “You sure about that?” she taunts.

Pain lights up Mallory’s brain. “Fuck!” she cries out. “Never better!” 

Hayden tucks her gun into the holster on her leg and tugs a pair of pliers out of her pocket. Mallory sees her move behind the chair and hears the squeak of her combat boots as she crouches down. 

Breath tickles her forearm. “It’s a shame that Ben couldn’t be here. But he doesn’t have the stomach for this kind of thing.” 

The clamp of metal around one of her fingernails has Mallory babbling, “are you fucking him? You always did like them desperate.”

Hayden tuts, “we can’t all be fucking billionaires,” and rips the pliers. Mallory’s fingernail detaches with a wet, tearing sound. She bites her lip and grunts through the fresh agony. Delia’s voice sounds in her head: _never let him see the damage_. 

She holds the image of Duncan’s dumbstruck response to their last kiss in her mind as she locks the pain away.

“Is that all you’ve got?” she yells. “You think I care that you know about my plaything? He’s nothing. Just like you’re nothing to Harmon. He’ll never leave his wife, Hayden. You’re a convenient hole for his grief.”

Mallory can’t see her face, but she imagines anger there. The next pull of the pliers is particularly viscous. Clamp, pull, clamp, pull. Mallory pours the sensation crackling along her synapses into progressively larger vaults—like Russian nesting dolls. She’d always liked those.

Hayden doesn’t stop until she’s savaged all ten fingers. Blood runs thick and splats against the floor. Mallory’s feet slip in the river of red running from under her chair. _That’s what the drain was for_.

The wound in her thigh is still gushing steadily. She knows she doesn’t have much blood left to spare. She estimates she’s already lost several pints. Heaviness settles in her limbs.

Lips touch her ear. “Ben wants you to pay for what you did to his little girl, Mallory. While I agree that reparations are due, I convinced him to let me give you a more poetic ending than a bullet to the head. I have a lot of professional respect for you. I would hate to see you go down that way. Thankfully, little Violet kept a journal. Ho boy did she write down lots of juicy gossip about you! And about your daddy dearest,” Hayden purrs.

Mallory shivers, and sets her jaw. She doesn’t lean away. Hayden inhales and releases her next words with a sibilant hiss. “I’m going to seal you in the dark. Just like he did. You can take your last breaths choking on the knowledge that Duncan Shepherd is going to rot in prison for murder." 

Hayden brushes her knuckles softly along her cheek. “Nighty, night, Mal,” she murmurs and sucker punches her in the face.

Unconsciousness is a relief.

\--

Miriam looks up from the map spread in front of her with a pin marking Mallory’s last known location and narrows her eyes at the nervous looking man typing away on his laptop at the other end of Cordelia’s dining room table. “Hey, fuck nuts,” she calls. “Have you found anything?”

The guy looks up from his computer and darts a nervous look at her. “N-no Ma’am. The phone last pinged a cell tower four blocks south of where you found Ms. Goode’s vehicle outside of the Miso Phat restaurant. The trail goes dead after that.”

Kai strolls into the kitchen holding a plastic bag with Mallory’s smashed cellphone inside. “That’s because it was ditched. Mal walked to the park after dinner. I found it under her bench. They must have grabbed her there.”

At his pronouncement, Cordelia picks up the tray of cinnamon rolls cooling on top of the oven and chucks it at the wall.

Behold takes a drag on his cigarette as they all watch cream cheese icing drip down robin’s-egg blue paint.

Cordelia forks shaky hands through her bob. “Someone knew,” she mutters. “Someone knew her routine. Knew exactly where she’d be.”

Miriam nods. “I agree.” 

“You think this was an inside job?” Kai asks. “Someone in the Coven?”

Cordelia purses her lips and leans against the countertop. “No. No one would risk it with Miriam still in the game. It was someone from the outside. A friend maybe. Someone close to Mal but not too close.” 

Behold quirks a brow. “All of Mallory’s friends are either dead, in prison, or being held for questioning by the police.” 

“Prison,” Kai hums, tapping his chin. And then a moment later, “_Prison!_” Heads jerk up at his exclamation. He looks manic. “Pencil-dick hack the DCPD database!” he shouts. “I wanna see parole records for the last six months!”

Feeling everyone’s eyes on him, Kai explains, “one of Mallory’s old contacts with the Bratva went down for homicide four years ago. She had a thing for wire.” 

Kai moves to hover behind the lackey at the table, watching his fingers fly over the keys. When pencil-dick makes it into the database, he lets Kai take his chair.

Kai leans forward and scans the page, scrolling slowly through each record on file. Five minutes later he says, “here. I’ve got her. Hayden McClaine.”

He turns the laptop so her mugshot’s on display to the rest of the kitchen. “Guess who her court appointed psychiatrist was?” he asks.

Cordelia’s blue eyes glimmer with recognition. “Ben Harmon.”

The sound of the doorbell has everyone looking toward the front hallway. Behold ashes his cigarette and stands. “I’ll go.” He sashays out of the kitchen with a shimmer of gold sequins. 

Cordelia, Kai, Miriam and shit-dick are quiet in his absence, holding their breath.

They hear the front door open and close with a squeak and two sets of footsteps on the hardwood.

The bubble of tension in the room breaks when Behold appears and says, “look what the cat dragged in.”

\--

Duncan peers anxiously over Behold’s shoulder and makes eye contact with Cordelia. “Ms. Goode, I’m sorry to show up unannounced but I wanted to thank you for sending Regina to the station. I think we have a lot to talk about.”

Cordelia blinks numbly at his words until _Kai _comes to her rescue. “Now’s really not the time Skin Tag. Why don’t you go home and practice the lines your lawyer gave—”

“Mallory’s been taken,” Cordelia says, cutting him off.

Duncan, who’d been bracing himself for a confrontation, deflates at her words. “What? Taken where? By who?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” an older woman responds. She narrows her eyes at him and frowns. “We think we know who put the head in your refrigerator. And we think that same person has Mallory.” 

Duncan gulps. Dread settles like a lead weight in his gut. The image of Melody’s decapitated head plays over and over in his mind. “I want to help,” he whispers. “Let me help look for her.”

The woman’s gaze softens. “You’re good with computers, aren’t you? You can take over for nut-sack. Do you think you can use that app of yours to get us into someone’s phone?”

“If they downloaded it, I’ll have access to their data,” he tells her.

Her answering smile is wicked. “Excellent.”

\-- 

Duncan’s not sure what he expected to happen when he showed up here, but he didn’t think he would be trying to remotely access a psychiatrist’s phone. His worry for Mallory had spurred him to say yes to the woman seated to his right. He’s never seen her before, but she told him to call her Miriam. She seems kind. Motherly.

Duncan heaves a deep sigh and scratches his nails through the stubble on his chin. “So, it looks like Harmon received a call an hour ago from an unknown number. The cell-site location was 211-3, which…if I’m reading this map right corresponds to a tower-location here in the 7th ward.”

Pencil-fucker? Drifts over to where Duncan’s sitting and takes a look at the screen. He nods his head in affirmation of Duncan’s assessment. “Yes Ms. Cordelia,” he says. “Mr. Shepherd is right, the cell tower in question is on 4th and Weaver.”

Duncan sees Cordelia’s head snap up from its place against her folded arms. “Weaver,” she breathes. She exchanges a tense look with Behold and says, “Kai, grab the keys.”

A flurry of motion explodes in the kitchen. Duncan shuffles along behind the Goodes and ends up piled into the back of the SUV that Kai reverses out of the driveway and rockets down the street.

Fifteen stop signs, two red lights and one set of train tracks later, they pull up in front of an overgrown lot in a neighbourhood that looks like it’s seen better times.

Duncan’s confused when Cordelia throws open the door and sprints into hip length greenery.

“MALLORY!” she screams, whipping around wildly. “MALLORY!” No one responds to her cries.

Duncan understands then that they’re looking for a body. Or a corpse. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He remembers the way Mallory had looked at him in the studio. Looked into him.

_You’re mine_.

Emotion aches in his chest. _And you’re mine, you crazy bitch_.

Duncan opens his eyes and gets out of the vehicle. Grim determination pulls down the edges of his mouth as he wades in to the field. 

\--

Mallory awakens in the dark with an itchy nose.

She tries to raise her arms to scratch at it but can’t. Anguish radiates through her right arm and shoulder as her forearms thump uselessly against something hard. She tries to move her legs, but they’re also trapped.

_No. No no no no no_.

She rears up and smacks her forehead against the top of her prison.

_Not again. I can't again._

Mallory screams her rage brokenly into the space around her and feels tears drip down her cheeks. Her chest heaves with uncontrolled sobs.

_I’m going to seal you in the dark_. 

She knows she needs to slow her breathing, but she can’t think beyond the icy terror gripping her chest. Her mind goes hazy as she continues to hyperventilate. 

Memories of the last time she’d suffocated flicker through her skull.

_No, please. I’ll be good._

She’d begged and begged, until all of the air was gone.

Writhing, clawing, mouth gaping. Every cell screaming out for oxygen.

And then oblivion.

Mallory sees the faces of her dead and lets them drag her under. 

_Only Daddy’s special girls get to see inside the room._

\--

Duncan looks around wildly. They must have combed every inch of the lot. 

He steps blindly and trips over a tree root, going down hard on his hands and knees next to a pile of rotting mulch. At some point a neighbour must have tried to cut the grass.

What he sees at the edge of the pile has him yelling at the top of his lungs, “HEY, HEY! OVER HERE! OVER HERE!”

Duncan crawls toward the patch of overturned dirt peeking out from the edge of the pile and starts digging with his hands.

Soon Kai, Cordelia, and Miriam drop down beside him and start widening the hole he’s started. They dig in tandem, plunging fingers into the soil and pulling handfuls back toward their bodies.

Behold runs to the SUV and comes back with a fold out shovel. _I guess it pays to bury your own bodies on a weekly basis. _

Duncan and the others keep their heads down and their hands digging as Behold thrusts the blade into the center of the hole and starts excavating larger scoops of dirt. They dig and they dig until the end of the shovel hits something hard five feet down.

It’s wood. 

Quickly, they start clearing the dirt from the surface of the long rectangular box. _A coffin_. Kai hops the fence on the right side of the lot and kicks in the door to the neighbour’s shed. He comes sprinting back with a hammer. Jumping back into the pit, he raises his arm and swings the clawed end down with a grunt. He keeps swinging until he’s punched a hole several inches wide.

They can see clothes.

Multiple hands grab for the edges of the plywood and pull. The smell of blood greets their noses as the wood cracks and splinters open.

When the hole is big enough, Cordelia lunges forward to pull the limp body of her sister from the box. “MALLORY!” she sobs, cradling her slack face to her chest. “NO. NOOO. MALLORY!”

Duncan watches with horror as the Goodes lay the body of his lover in the dirt.

He hears Miriam call an ambulance as Kai and Cordelia start compressions and Behold breathes air into her chest.

His eyes prickle with tears as he remembers her excitement the first time they’d grappled in his bed, her wicked smirk at the ball and the careless leg she’d thrown over the edge of his tub. 

_You like it. _

They spill over and run down his dirt smeared cheeks as he remembers how she’d felt against him that last time and the brush of fingers against his own on top of a crumb covered duvet. 

_You missed me. _

When Cordelia’s shoulders droop with exhaustion, Duncan’s up and pushing her out of the way before he realizes what he’s doing.

He straddles Mallory’s hips and feels ribs crack under his palms as he resumes the fast rhythm of compressions.

“Come on,” he grits through his teeth. “Come on. Come on, you wretched bitch. I’m not finished with you. Come on!” 

Lifeless brown eyes stare at the sky.

Blue lips part with air forced from still lungs.

Duncan hears the wail of the ambulance as Cordelia says, “there’s a pulse! We’ve got a pulse!”


	9. I'm Strong Because of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duncan and the gang have a long wait at the hospital.

The paramedics are just pushing Duncan out of the way and rolling Mallory onto a back board when several cop cars come screaming up to the lot. Detective Day hops out of one of the cars and is followed by a man in plain clothes that Duncan assumes is her partner.

His brain is fried but he’s not too exhausted to recognize that it’s unlikely that a detective would respond to a 9-1-1 call. She must have had someone follow him from his mother’s house.

Day sidles up next to him and says, “Mr. Shepherd, you’re having an exceedingly action filled day.” She looks over his shoulder toward the police officers who are swarming the field and taping off a perimeter. Duncan imagines he’ll be giving a statement to one of them at some point too.

As distracting as Day’s appearance is, he doesn’t turn away from Mallory. He can’t.

One of the paramedics fits a mask over her face to start bagging breaths as their partner ties a tourniquet above the wound in her left leg. 

He starts to follow when they move her toward the back of the ambulance and is stopped by a firm grip at his elbow.

Day gives him her best Pollyanna smile. “Oh, now Mr. Shepherd you wouldn’t mind sticking around would you? I need you to sign a few release forms for your personal affects.” She holds up an evidence bag containing his cellphone and winks. “We’ve already taken the call, text, and email logs off of it so don’t worry about deleting anything.”

Duncan tears his eyes away from Mallory to stare at her in disbelief. “Keep it, I don’t care.” He tries to take another step forward, but she holds firm. “I must insist, Mr. Shepherd. We like to make sure that all belongings that are non-essential to an investigation are returned.”

Duncan’s chest heaves with his breath. He sees Cordelia get into the back of the ambulance, the doors swinging shut behind her and wants to punch someone.

Before he can do anything stupid, Kai steps in between him and Detective Day.

“Misty,” he greets her, “why don’t you give the guy a break? He just helped dig his girlfriend out of a hole. You know how that goes, right?” He shrugs in a ‘what are you gonna do,’ kind of gesture and pauses. He makes a show of furrowing his brows. “No, wait. You don’t know, do you? You’re usually the one trying to bury your girlfriends under false allegations.”

Day’s smile twists sourly under the weight of her displeasure. She releases Duncan’s elbow and snaps, “Mr. Anderson don’t you have something illegal you should be doing? Boots to lick, backs to scratch for Cordelia like the good little stooge you are?”

A shit eating grin spreads over Kai’s face. Duncan can’t believe this is the same guy who was holding back tears a few minutes ago.

Kai drops his voice low and says, “I’m not sure what you’re insinuating, Misty. But don’t you worry, I’ll lick something for Cordelia later. And I’ll be sure to tell her you said hello.” 

Duncan fights to keep his expression neutral. He’d thought that Day’s hard-on for him was strange, but he didn’t realize that it was so personally motivated. _Note to self: when you break up with someone in the family, you break up with everybody. _

Finished giving her statement about the 9-1-1 call, Miriam comes to stand beside Kai and spits to the left of Day’s black dress shoes. “Detective Do-Right,” she greets her frostily.

Acrylic nails tap, tap along the top of Duncan’s shoulder. He turns his head to the side and sees Behold. He’s sans shovel which might be a blessing if the forbidding expression he’s directing at Day is anything to go by. 

“Listen here, Miss-tee-tee,” he twangs. “My child was just taken away in the back of an ambulance and I am in no mood to play. Mr. Shepherd is leaving with us now. Kind officer Ramirez—” he waves a hand in the direction of a dark-haired policeman hovering nearby, “—has offered to follow us to the hospital to continue taking our statements. As you are not involved in Mallory’s case and Duncan is not obligated to talk to you, I’m gonna need you to slink on back to the swamp, you deceitful snake.”

To Day’s credit, she knows when she’s beat. She works her jaw testily and glares at Behold. “Bebe, always such a pleasure.” She meets Duncan’s eyes over the human blockade in front of him and says, “I’ll be seeing you, Mr. Shepherd.” He hears the threat in her words loud and clear.

\--

The drive to the hospital is nearly unbearable. Duncan’s ready to throw himself into traffic and run there when they pull up in front of the main entrance.

It’s Kai who intervenes when he tries to charge up to the admitting desk looking for Mal. He gets part of the way there when the other man cuts in front of him and presses his hands to his chest. “Hey man, let’s get you cleaned up. We’re all covered in dirt and blood. They’re not going to let you in there looking the way you do. Just cool it for a hot-second. Pencil-dick brought us all a change of clothes.”

Rage has tears pricking in Duncan’s eyes. Mallory could have died by now and he wouldn’t even know. It’s been thirty-five minutes since she disappeared into the back of that ambulance and he feels like he’s going to come out of his skin if he has to wait any longer to see her. 

He opens his mouth to snarl at Kai, but what comes out is a quickly stifled sob. Kai pats his chest comfortingly and averts his gaze from his tears. “Jesus fucking Christ man, I know alright! I know. We’re almost there.”

“What do you even care if I see her?” Duncan grates, scrubbing the tears from his cheeks. 

Kai shuts his eyes for a moment and licks his lips. He looks back at Duncan and says, “listen man, I’ll never like you. But you helped pull someone important to me out of the ground today. You helped keep her alive. I figure that buys you a few days of grace.” Duncan’s skeptical frown has Kai flexing his fingers into his filthy shirt. “I’m hardly an expert on genuine human emotion. Just go with it, Skin Tag.” 

\--

By the time they make it up to the right floor, Behold and Miriam have already found Cordelia. Behold tells them that the officer who followed them to the hospital went to get coffee but he wants to speak to them when he gets back.

Miriam explains that it’s touch and go for Mallory at this point. They don’t expect that she’ll be out of the operating theater for several hours yet. She’d lost a lot of blood. The surgeons figure that she was shot at close range since her right humerus and left femur were broken pretty badly. Both injuries need to be opened up and stabilized with nails. The risk of compartment syndrome will be high for a few days afterwards, so they plan to keep her here in intensive care.

Duncan processes this information numbly. He’s dead on his feet and probably looks it too. The only thing keeping him from total collapse is the thought of seeing Mallory’s face if—when she pulls through surgery.

Behold gives his borrowed jeans and black hoodie a thorough up and down and smirks, “I see Kai’s been spreading his bad fashion sense.” 

Kai flips Behold the bird absentmindedly as he walks past them and drops down into a crouch in front of Cordelia. She looks…lost. Duncan can empathize. She’s sitting in a chair, staring at nothing on the wall in front of her. Her eyes drop slowly to Kai when he folds her hands between his own. He raises them to his lips for a kiss and murmurs softly, “come on Doll, let’s get you cleaned up.”

As Kai’s leading her past them, Cordelia stills. She’s in Duncan’s space then. He flinches automatically, but she puts her hands on either side of his face and forces him to hold still. “Thank you,” she breathes, shakily. “Thank you.”

Duncan wants to protest. His stomach burns, it hurts to breathe. He closes his eyes and nods his head within her grasp. Cordelia presses her forehead briefly to his and then she’s gone, shuffling away to the bathroom with Kai. 

The hard waiting room chairs are a cold comfort, but he drops himself into one anyways. He’s only peripherally aware of Behold and Miriam leaving to freshen themselves up. 

\-- 

During the third hour that Mallory’s in surgery, Duncan wakes from a doze to hear Behold and Miriam whispering about what to do about the police.

Officer Ramirez had come back to speak to Kai and Duncan and left a long time ago. Duncan fudged the truth and said that he’d gone to Cordelia’s out of concern when he didn’t hear from Mallory for a few days. He’d left the nature of their relationship unsaid. Officially, he had no idea what tipped the Goode’s off to the fact that Mallory had been taken or how they knew that she’d be in that field. 

He blinks his eyes open and sits up straight, signalling to his companions that he’s paying attention to their conversation. Miriam’s eyes catch his own and she repeats slightly louder, “we’re going to give the police a ransom note with Hayden’s DNA on it.”

Her expression darkens when Duncan raises his brows in askance. “I’ve got people dealing with Hayden. The police will find her somewhere convenient. She’ll implicate herself in Melody’s murder and point them in the direction of Ben Harmon.”

This sounds too good to be true. Too easy. “How do you know that she won’t also talk to them about Mallory? Or Cordelia? I thought you said that Hayden was a former contact with the Bratva?” Duncan asks.

“That’s who’s dealing with her now. They’ll sniff her out. We have a good working relationship. Semyon’s promised to bring me Hayden’s tongue and several of her fingers. He’s known Mallory since she was fifteen. His men will make sure that Hayden’s literally only able to _point _the police toward Harmon.”

Miriam’s words blanket his mind with sick satisfaction. _Fucking hell_. How far has he slipped that he’s feeling grateful for another person’s pain? He’s certain that he wasn’t this morally bankrupt a few days ago. He really needs to schedule some time with his therapist. 

Duncan blows out a breath. He’d thought that this woman was motherly! _HAH. __Maybe a mama grizzly bear_. “And I thought Mallory was scary,” he mutters.

Black painted lips part around sharp teeth. “Who do you think taught her?”

\-- 

It’s after the fifth hour that a nurse pokes his head out of the intensive care unit and lets them know that Mallory’s been brought up from the operating room.

He opens the doors for them and leads them down a long hallway. For better observation, the walls of each of the rooms on the ward are glass. Curtains around each bed provide privacy when needed.

When they come to room 306, Duncan sees the familiar shape of Mallory slumbering in the middle of a hospital bed. She looks fragile under all of the bandages, wires and tubes connected to her person. There’s an oxygen mask over her face but she’s not intubated. The three intravenous pumps at her bedside whirr loudly as they continue infusing blood and what he can only assume is medication. 

Cordelia presses her hands to the glass and sobs. The mournful sound of her howls has the Goode’s closing ranks around her, folding her in their embrace. “I promised. I promised,” she wails. “I promised no more. I promised she wouldn’t be alone in the dark again.”

Again.

A flippant comment tossed like a match into a puddle of gasoline echoes in Duncan’s ears.

_My body’s not fit for breeding. _

His fingers tingle with the sense memory of running over scars made white with time.

He tries not to scream.

Mallory’s nurse and the intensivist on duty give them all a moment to collect themselves.

When Cordelia’s calm enough, they explain that Mallory had done really well during the surgery and immediately after. They’d extubated her in the anesthetic recovery unit because she’d shown signs of being able to breathe on her own with the aid of an oxygen mask. She’d been brought to this unit and not a surgical floor because they’re still trying to reverse her hypovolemic shock. She’d lost more than 20% of her blood volume. They’ll be transfusing her and giving medications to keep her blood pressure up throughout the night. At the moment, she’s still pretty sedated but they’re free to stay with her if they keep out of the way of the staff.

Duncan hangs back while the Goodes move into the room and hover around Mallory’s bed. He watches them reach out with gentle hands and touch the few patches of free skin that are available.

A scary looking central line is in the side of Mallory’s neck. The skin prep they used before inserting the catheter has stained the delicate line of her jaw pink. Blood dots the gauze wrapped around each of her fingertips.

Duncan swallows back bile. This isn’t right. This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be. He’s come to peace with the fact that he loves this bitch. He just needs her stop looking so broken. 

He wants to rage and run and possibly stab someone with one of her knives. 

Instead, he settles into a chair at the end of the bed and resumes his vigil. He takes a breath, breathes deep and pushes through the ache in his chest like he’s been doing since Cordelia told him Mallory was missing. 

\--

Around midnight, Cordelia jostles him gently to get his attention. He accepts the cup of coffee she hands him gratefully. It’s getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open. 

“I called your mother. I figured she should know you were safe with what’s been going on,” Cordelia says, trying and failing to get a hold of the wobble in her voice. 

Duncan tips his head back to meet her eyes. “Thanks,” he mutters. “I can’t imagine that was an easy conversation. I would have done it myself, but the detective investigating Melody’s murder still has my phone.” 

Cordelia nods her understanding. “Kai told me Misty’s been making herself a problem. I’ve already informed Regina about the harassment. We’ll need to be careful. She’ll try to poke holes in Hayden’s connection to Melody out of spite.” 

Duncan huffs. “She knows she has nothing on me, she admitted as much.” 

“Semyon will make sure that the physical evidence against Hayden is overwhelming. We’ll keep you safe, Duncan,” Cordelia tells him.

“Why?” he asks, truly bewildered by her kindness. “You hate my family, remember? We tried to expose you.”

Cordelia’s eyes drift over to Mallory and linger. “My sister doesn’t love many people. But I’m fairly certain she loves you.”

Duncan’s breath hitches and his fingers tighten their grasp on his to-go cup. He’s silent for a moment while he grapples with the tangled ball of his emotions. He should hate her. Should never want to see her again; and yet. He wonders when he stopped differentiating between love and hate. Eventually, he rasps, “it’s fucked up, but I think I love her too.” 

Blue eyes smile at him from an exhausted face. “I know.” 

\--

Duncan volunteers to stay overnight when the others grumble about taking Cordelia home to rest. Mallory hasn’t shown any signs of waking.

Kai scoops a sleeping Cordelia out of her chair in a bridle carry and quirks a corner of his lips at Duncan in thanks.

Around 2:00am, Duncan gets up to use the washroom. The sliding door to the little bathroom squeaks loudly when he comes back. Worried that he’d disturbed her slumber, he runs his eyes from the lump of Mallory’s feet under the blankets up to her face.

That’s when he sees that her eyes are half-open, darting back and forth in panic. 

_I promised she wouldn’t be alone in the dark again._

“It’s ok, Mal,” Duncan says hoarsely, and Mallory turns to look at him, a drugged-out smile breaking over her bruised face.

“Puppy,” she slurs, “yurr here.” The words are slow and rough and yank at the loose threads in Duncan’s chest.

He’s across the room and at the edge of the bed before she can draw another shallow breath. He curls himself over Mallory and presses his lips to her forehead while gauze wrapped hands paw at his face.

She tries to take her oxygen mask off, but he catches her hands. “No pulling, Darth Vader. You need the oxygen to breathe.” 

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Mallory frowns and says, “don cry Dunc, m’sorry. Nuh more crumbsss in tha bed.”

He barks out a raw sounding laugh. “I’m still finding them, it’s like you never left.”

That dopey smile tugs her lips wide again and he has to kiss the pleased arch of her brows. “I hate you,” he chokes against her skin. “I hate you so much, you stupid bitch.” 

Under him, Mallory’s breath hitches. When he pulls back to look at her, brown eyes sparkle under a haze of medication. “I luh youu, too.”


	10. I Gotta do the Right Thing for my Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning in the hospital. Lots of dialogue, little action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Russian was done with google translate and is likely inaccurate. I'm aware of this possibility, just take it as it is. The intended translations are provided at the end. 
> 
> Thanks to Chekhovs_Power_Loader for the help you were able to provide.

Mallory wakes up to the feeling that something has died in her mouth and the inability to move her arms. Terror grips her. _No no no no_. Something beeps frantically in the background and then she hears the one voice that’s anchored her throughout the worst moments of her life.

“Hey there, O’Malley, you’re safe. We’re at the GWU hospital and everybody’s been waiting for you to wake up.” In a measured tone, Cordelia talks about anything and everything—Bebe and Kai’s argument over who gets to pick out her get well gift (they both do, Miriam’s supervising), the flowers blooming in the garden at home, the cheesecake she made at 3:00am—until the beeping dies down to something slow and steady.

The soap bubble of panic pops.

The release of tension brings a rush of blurry sights and unfamiliar sounds. Mallory grasps at a familiar thread to keep herself from floating away again. Focusing on her sister’s exhausted face, she croaks, “I'm Abraham De Lacy, Guiseppe Casey…” 

Cordelia's watery smile is relieved. She finishes, “Thomas O'Malley…O'Malley the alley cat.”

“I thought you were a dog person?” a sleep scratchy voice asks. 

Mallory drops her eyes to her chest and spies a mop of dirty blond hair. Duncan’s shoulders and back roll with a stretch as he sits back in his chair, taking the weight that was across her arms with him.

His mouth gapes with a yawn as he scratches at his stubbly chin. He looks like a wannabe hood in his oversized sweater. Warmth spreads through her chest.

“We should have sex again.” 

Duncan’s eyes shoot wide as his chest expands with a stunned laugh.

A flush burns through his cheeks as he shoots Cordelia a nervous glance. Her sister's expression is patiently amused. 

“The nurses said that the drugs might make her a little…uninhibited.” 

Mallory tries to wink seductively and manages a slow double blink. “I’ll show _you _uninhibited.” Giggling at the nasal quality of her voice behind the oxygen mask, she’s unprepared for the pain that shoots through her right shoulder.

“OW! CUMGUZZLING THUNDERCUNT!” 

Duncan and Cordelia wince empathetically. 

Now that Duncan’s out of the way, Mallory can see that there are tensor bandages holding splints against her upper right arm. A sling cradles the limb close to her side. She wiggles the swollen fingers peeking out of the blue cloth and feels gauze pull at the raw tissue where her nails used to be. She can't feel anything other than numbness and tingling in her left leg.

“Fuck,” she says, as something pulls unpleasantly at the side of her neck. “I’m a fucking mess.”

Cordelia moves to her open side and brushes a cool hand over her brow. “Hayden did a number on you. They had to operate on your arm and left leg. Your fingernails will grow back, but you’ll need physiotherapy for a little bit.”

There’s a pause. Delia bites her lip like she’s uncertain if she should say something.

“Sh-she buried you where the house used to be. We dug you up.”

Mallory presses into Cordelia’s touch and cracks a joke to disguise the miserable gush of tears the statement brings tears to her eyes. “You mean I didn’t even get my Tarantino moment?” 

“Shhh,” Delia coos. “You’re alright.” 

A nurse comes in then, alerted to Mallory’s consciousness by her shout. 

Duncan and Cordelia are quiet as the nurse takes some readings from the monitors at the head of the bed. Satisfied with what she sees, the nurse does a bit of an assessment: shining a light in Mallory’s eyes, asking if she knows where she is and checking the pulses in her limbs. The oxygen mask is swapped for nasal prongs. She shows Mallory how to push the remote pinned to her gown for pain medication and leaves with a stern warning for her not to exert herself.

Feeling the cool air of the room on her newly uncovered cheeks, something niggles at Mallory’s memory. Still sniffling slightly, she turns toward Duncan and asks, “did Hayden do something to you? Before she knocked me out she told me you were going to rot in prison.”

Blond lashes blink down over glacial coloured eyes. Duncan sighs and picks at a hole in his jeans. “She left Melody Cruz’s head in my refrigerator.”

“HA!” 

At Cordelia’s disapproving look, Mallory pouts sympathetically, “I’m so sorry." She's not. "Were you two close?”

Duncan glares at her knowingly. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

_Whatever, pup_.

Rolling his eyes at her unrepentant expression, Duncan continues, “she planted my DNA on some evidence the police found outside of the studio. Now I’ve got a spurned blonde detective on my ass for murder.”

Mallory’s eyes flit to Cordelia and take in her guilty expression. “So, Harmon’s not the only one with a revenge boner." She shakes her head. "You and that fucking swamp rat.” 

Misty’s reveal as an undercover cop and her subsequent betrayal is a sore spot. Mallory’s not surprised when Cordelia snaps, “like you have any room to talk. _Your_ suicidal mess of a girlfriend is the one who started this.”

\--

It isn’t really Duncan’s place to interfere, but the way that Mallory recoils at the mention of her past lover has him jumping to her defence. Who is this person who, even dead and gone, can hurt her so easily? Suppressing his irrational jealousy, he looks at Cordelia and says, “easy, now. They’ll make us leave if you stress her out.”

He feels the breath seize in his lungs as the most powerful mob boss in the city glares at him venomously. A second later, Cordelia breaks her gaze ashamedly and coughs, “you’re right. I’m sorry. We shouldn’t be pointing fingers when no one’s to blame.” She tries to grin at Mallory. “Suffice to say we both have bad taste in partners.”

“I resent that.” 

They ignore him. Duncan mentally pats himself on the back for diffusing the situation. 

Clearing his throat, he asks, “so about this whole Hayden business, have we made any progress on keeping me out of prison?”

The hum of voices in the hallway has Cordelia hesitating to answer. Duncan looks over at the door at the same time that Regina March and an older gentleman pause their conversation and enter the room.

“Good morning, Mr. Shepherd!” Queenie booms. Her smile is an interesting mix of cheerful and smug where it sits above her plaid tweed set. “Cordelia,” she says to her employer, “thanks for letting me know where my client was hiding himself away.”

Greeting Mallory with a, “bitch, you look like lukewarm shit,” Queenie comes to stand by Duncan’s chair. 

She raises a brow at his outfit. “Hold up, Marshall Mathers. Don’t resign yourself to a life of crime just yet. Judge Plimpton has denied Day’s request for an arrest warrant with your name on it. New evidence was taken into custody last night including a written confession from one Hayden McClaine. Police are tracking down Ben Harmon as we speak.” The smirk she slants in the older man’s direction confirms Duncan’s theory that all of the people in this city, even the senior citizens, are corrupt. 

A craggy face that looks like it’s been weathered by more than time creases with glee. 

The man who, for all intents and purposes, looks like a harmless old dodger in his soft grey cardigan and house slippers, moves without making a sound. _Like a snow leopard_.

A tattooed hand brushes over Cordelia’s shoulder as the man passes behind her to reach the side of the bed. Cupping Mallory’s face and kissing both of her cheeks, he says, with extreme gravity, “I fix for you, zvyozdochka.”

The heavy Russian accent and the tattoos have Duncan’s brain pinging with alarm.

_Holy shit_, _holy shit_, he thinks, searching his mental catalogue.This geriatric is Semyon Reznikov, The Mad Butcher of Moscow (Duncan’s done his fair share of googling about organized crime in D.C. in the past few months). 

Pure affection stretches Mallory’s cracked lips into a smile. For a moment, she looks all of age ten. “Spasibo vam bol'shoye, deda.”

A finger bops the end of her nose. “I bring gift for you.”

Semyon reaches into his cardigan and pulls out a handkerchief embroidered with small blue flowers. With a tug at a corner of the fabric, he opens the bundle for Mallory’s inspection. 

Duncan observes the careful blankness in his lover’s face and the rising elation behind it. He decides that he doesn’t need to know what’s in that handkerchief. Possibly ever. 

“Bylo li eto pokhozhe na steyk?” Mallory asks. 

“Da,” Semyon tells her.

Conspiratorially, he adds, “Tsennaya korova.”

Duncan doesn’t need to speak Russian to know that things went very poorly for Hayden McClaine.

Queenie nudges his shoulder then, wanting his attention. Scrolling through her email with one hand she flicks the other out in front of her in a dismissive gesture. “You should be aware that you’ll likely still be served a subpoena to testify at Ben Harmon's trial. The DA will probably offer Hayden a plea bargain in exchange for her..." She cocks her head. "Testimony isn't really the right word."

Duncan bites a part of his thumbnail off with his teeth. 

_"Anyway_, that'll all depend on whether or not she makes it through the night. She’s at Sibley Memorial.”

To make the horror of the moment worse, Duncan’s mother chooses that moment to come screeching around the corner to the room. Annette's bitch face and Dior sunglasses are in full effect. 

“Duncan Shepherd,” she drawls, “would you care to explain to me why a bevy of Japanese men arrived on my front steps this morning wishing to pay their respects to _‘the man who survived to bed the mountain witch?’_” 

Semyon lets out a deep, rumbling laugh. "Kai, he gossips like old hen."

Duncan swallows loudly and scratches his neck.

“…yeah, so about that—”

“We’ve been fucking for a while now,” Mallory announces, reaching out for his hand. He doesn’t hesitate to hold her palm in his own. “There are feelings now; I love you’s and everything.”

"I believe I said I hate you.”

“Same difference.”

Annette frowns and taps her heel on the floor testily. Sensing a rattlesnake coiling herself to strike, Queenie puts her phone away to watch the proceedings with rapt attention. 

After a long moment of silence, Annette says, “I won’t pretend to like it or understand it. You’ll continue your therapy, or I’ll have Bill kick you off of the board.” She heaves the sigh of the perpetually disappointed. “You were always burning your own damn hand instead of the ants in the front yard with your magnifying glass. I don’t suppose I can convince you to keep this…affiliation under wraps?”

Duncan narrows his eyes. He won’t be managed. Not about this. “Well, since I’ll likely be testifying about the nature of our _relationship _in court, I’m going to say no.”

Annette's jaw works as she chews his words over. “Fine. We’ll deal with it when it happens.” She looks at Cordelia then. “Mayor, Bill and I would be delighted if you’d join us for tea next Thursday. We have plans to discuss.” 

“And what plans would those be?” Cordelia asks, adjusting her stance.

“Why your run for the Senate, of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zvyozdochka = Little star.
> 
> Spasibo vam bol'shoye, deda = Thank you very much, grandpa.
> 
> Bylo li eto pokhozhe na steyk= Did it feel like steak?
> 
> Tsennaya korova= Valuable cow.


	11. These Fucking Parasites Eat up my Spine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another shorter chapter. We're winding down now. I'll probably wrap this story up in one more chapter.

“Hold the balloons, Pennywise,” Behold mutters, pushing the ribbons holding an assortment of helium balloons into Kai’s hands.

He ignores Miriam’s chuckle behind the plush Cookie Monster she’s holding and clutches the vase of tulips (Mallory’s favourite) closer to his chest. 

If he never has to see the inside of a Build A Bear again, he’ll die a happy man. All he wants to do is make sure his baby is still breathing and plop himself into a hospital chair for a few hours. Maybe forever. These shoes were not made for walking.

He’s wholly unenthused when the elevator doors open on Mallory's floor and he’s treated to the sight of Annette Shepherd’s pinched face. 

“Mrs. Shepherd,” he says with false cheer. “How kind of you to visit. Collect any souls on your way out?”

Plum lips twist with good humour. “No, Mr. Chablis. I haven't collected anyone but my son who, despite your family’s best efforts, is still very much alive,” Annette responds.

Behold’s eyes find Duncan then, hovering behind his mother’s shoulder. The boy looks…flushed? "He knows he's no longer under any threat from us," he tells Annette. Getting Duncan's attention he asks, "what’s got you all bothered, hotstuff?” 

Shifting slightly, Duncan coughs once into his fist. “What—I don’t. Nothing. I’m fine.” 

“Mmmhmm. You sure are.” The boy wears the unwashed look surprisingly well. “You run on home then and rest up. I’m sure Mallory will be requiring your attentions again tomorrow.” 

A fresh rush of blood fills Duncan’s cheeks. He keeps his eyes glued over Behold’s shoulder. “Uhuh, yeah, of course. Just uh, gonna get some rest.” 

“Enough chit chat,” Annette says, forcing her way past them and into the elevator. “Let’s go home. I can feel the hospital smell settling into my clothes.”

Behold and Miriam move forward into the hallway without complaint, but Kai takes his time exiting the elevator. Shuffling past Annette, he gives her a very thorough look over and suggestively licks his lips.

Annette raises a brow and stabs a finger into the button for the parkade. 

Kai smirks in response to her dismissal and throws Duncan a wink.

“What the fuck was that?” Duncan says, stopping Kai with a hand to his chest. 

Kai grabs Duncan's shoulders, whirling him around, and backs him into the elevator. “Your mom’s a fox, Skin Tag.” He waves goodbye as the doors close on Duncan’s unimpressed face.

Behold shakes his head disappointedly. “Have you no shame, Malakai.” 

Miriam presses the buzzer for a nurse to let them into the unit and tuts, “better keep it in your pants, Kai, Annette Shepherd eats men like you for breakfast.”

When the lock on the door disengages, Kai bolts past them and shouts, "this sexy beast can't be tamed!" The balloons bob wildly behind him as he sprints past the nurses and careens into Mallory’s room. 

Behold and Miriam walk at a more sedate pace, smiling apologetically at the staff. They make it down the hall in time to see Kai lean over Mallory and press a wet sounding kiss to her forehead.

“Muah! Looking ravishing, Mal," he tells her. "The fluorescent lights really bring out your bruises."

Mallory swings her good arm at him, and then, noticing their presence, says, "Ma! Bebe! Ooooh are those for me?”

Platforms clicking on the linoleum, Behold strides over to greet his youngest. He sets the vase on the beside table and confirms, “flowers for what ails you, baby."

Fussing with the strap on her sling, Behold feels the uncharacteristic burn of tears in his eyes. A memory forces it's way forward. “You know, when you weren’t burying cats, you were always laying in that damn garden. Getting full of dirt. You’d bring me tulips and say Bebe, this one’s as pretty as your dress.” 

A warm weight leans into his side. “Pull it together, you old queen,” Miriam says. “She doesn’t need our tears.”

Mallory smiles at both of them and squeezes each of their fingers in acknowledgement and thanks. 

Leaning over the opposite side of the bed, Kai snags the plush toy in the crook of Miriam’s elbow and holds it out for Mallory's inspection. “Look Mal, it's you as a furry! If you squeeze it’s hand it says, ‘eat my ass.’” 

Cordelia leans back in her chair and laughs. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. Let's traumatize a few more nurses.” 

“Traumatize?” Behold asks, narrowing his eyes on Mallory's innocent face. “What have you been getting up to Ms. Maleficent? Does this have something to do with that poor Shepherd boy's blush?” 

Mallory frowns, trying to look confused. “Duncan? He was blushing?" Behold's not fooled. 

“Leave it, Bebe. Watching her maul his face was bad enough, I don’t need her giving you the play by play," Cordelia says. She tucks her hair behind her ears and sighs, “you just missed Semyon...the thing with Hayden, it's done.”

Miriam and Kai nod their heads in understanding. 

Done standing for the day, Behold moves around to the end of the bed and plunks down into a stiff chair. He peels his aching feet out of his shoes and rests them on the footboard. “I for one, am not disappointed that he's gone," he huffs. "That old goat gives me the creeps.”

\--

Mallory’s exhausted by the time everyone leaves. So much so that she’s actually looking forward to the peaceful dark of unconsciousness.

If she asks the night nurse to leave the bathroom light on, that’s her business.

Nurse Tara is, as predicted, less than enthused by Cookie Monster’s vulgar message. Smiling to herself, Mallory snuggles the toy close. She drifts off easily, thinking about the soft heat of Duncan’s mouth and the wicked things she said she wanted to do to his ass in those jeans.

Soft footsteps and the whoosh of movement to her left. 

Mallory learned to be a light sleeper a long time ago. Her visitor tonight is far less dangerous than the man who used to haunt her bedroom.

“I was wondering if you were going to show your face,” she says, blinking her eyes open.

Ben Harmon freezes. There's an empty syringe in his hand. When Mallory makes no effort to call for help, he continues fiddling with her IV line.

“How did you get in here?” she asks. 

Her would be murderer hums lowly. “I’ve visited some of the inmates I treat in the hospital. I still have my visitor’s pass.”

Mallory wets her lips. “Makes sense.”

Pulling back on the plunger, Ben punctures her IV tubing with the blunt looking needle on the end of the syringe. “Ideally, I’d go for something more painful, but gore's not really my thing." He quirks a corner of his mouth self-deprecatingly and jokes, "psychiatrist. I could never stand the sight of blood. Ah well, I figure watching an embolus hit your heart will be just as satisfying." Cold detachment rolls over his face. "I want to watch the life leave your eyes. To see you suffer with pain in your heart like my little girl did."

Staring at the father of her former lover, Mallory feels nothing but pity for Ben Harmon. Violet’s manipulation ran deep. “I did nothing that Violet didn’t ask for," she says, voice gentle. "Your sweet little girl would beg for my knife one moment and cry foul the next. I never touched her without a signed invitation. I didn’t pour the pills down her throat, she did.”

“Bullshit!” Ben spits. “You twisted her up, made her hate herself. She’d call me crying about how awful you were. And about the drugs. She was terrified of you!” 

He leans down until he’s inches from Mallory's face and says, “burn in hell, you psycho bitch.” 

As he pushes down on on the plunger, Mallory’s left hand grips the peeler knife that Semyon tucked into her sling. Whipping the blade out in an arch, she slices through the IV tubing connected to the central line in her neck and slashes at Ben’s eyes.

He goes down wailing like a school girl, cradling his bleeding face.

Mallory ignores his cries and the blood gushing from her neck and calmly pushes the call bell.

\--

It takes the police forty minutes to make it to the hospital. Plenty of time to make the room presentable.

Nurse Tara finishes a total of five lectures about how lucky Mallory is that she didn’t give _herself _an embolus before Misty arrives.

Detective Day struts into Mallory’s room unaccompanied, leaving her partner to speak with the doctors attending to Harmon's injuries.

“Detective Day!” Mallory crows. “How nice of you to join us! I’ve apprehended your criminal for you. I assure you that I acted in self-defence.”

Misty stops in the middle of the room and hooks her thumbs into her belt, pushing her jacket back and subtly showing off the revolver at her hip. 

Mallory rolls her eyes. _Lesbians. Jesus. __Why don't you just whip out your strap?_

“Oh, yes," Misty says, cocking her head. "Your nurse paints a very dramatic picture of your heroism. Mysteriously though, she can’t seem to remember what exactly you used as a weapon.” 

Mallory purses her lips and pretends to think hard. “Gosh, it’s all a little blurry. What with the trauma of almost dying _again_. I remember grabbing the keys hanging from his belt loop. That must have been what I used. It was all instinct.”

Misty’s nostrils flare, picking up on the blatant lie. “Instinct. Right. Well, said keys have been recovered from where they were so thoughtfully placed in Mr. Harmon’s pocket.” 

“I just hope that he receives the help he needs. This whole revenge plot over his daughter's suicide is so sad. I heard about the other woman he had murdered. _Beheaded_. How awful to lose such a beloved TV anchor. Thank you, Detective Day, for helping her family find peace and justice.”

“Oh, come off it, Mallory. Don't pretend to have feelings. It’s just the two of us here.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Cordelia answers, appearing in the doorway behind Misty’s shoulder.

She shoots Mallory an assessing look and, finding her more or less unaltered, says, “Detective Day, are you trying to intimidate a victim? I’ve heard rumours about your belligerent treatment of my sister’s partner Mr. Shepherd. I would hate to file another complaint with your department on Mallory’s behalf.”

“Delia—” 

“It’s Mayor Goode now.”

As Cordelia and Misty stare at each other, Mallory feels the oppressive weight of the unresolved feelings between them. _Fucking hell_.

"Will the two of you just hate fuck already?" 

Her words make Cordelia blink and look away. “If you’re finished taking Mallory’s statement. I think you should go,” she whispers.

Misty looks like she wants to say something, but she holds her tongue. Cordelia stubbornly doesn’t watch her leave.

Mallory waits a beat for her sister to collect herself and says, “I’m alright Delia. I told them not to call and drag you out of bed.” 

Cordelia comes closer and brushes a few strands of blood stained hair out of her face. “I’m glad you’re alright.” She presses her forehead to Mallory’s and exhales, “no more manipulative cunts. For either of us.” 

Mallory barks a laugh. “Yeah. _Yeah_, okay.” 


	12. Where do Your Roots Start and Where do Your Roots End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cordelia has tea, Duncan and Mallory get reacquainted in a biblical sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, we've reached the end of our journey! I thank you so much for sticking with me through this fic. If you loved the Goode's as much as I did leave me a note or an emoji about it <3
> 
> Song lyrics are from 'My Favourite Things' from the Sound of Music.

Three days after Harmon’s attack, Cordelia visits Bill and Annette. The Shepherd siblings are quick to stifle their surprise when she arrives for tea with a guest.

The way that Kai winks at Annette makes Cordelia think that this isn’t the first time they’ve met. _Fascinating_. She can't decide if she's intrigued or disgusted. Bill just looks mildly annoyed.

“Cordelia,” Bill greets her. “I thought you accepted our invitation because you were ready to talk about expanding your political career.”

Cordelia takes a seat across the table from the Shepherds and motions for Kai to do the same. She takes her time responding to Bill, blowing on the steaming cup of oolong set in front of her by one of Annette’s staff and thanking the young woman, Boglárka according to her name tag, in Hungarian. The coincidence makes her chuckle under breath. “To the pain,” she mutters.

“What was that?” Bill asks.

Cordelia blinks. “I was just thinking about how we came to be here. It’s been an interesting few months.” She takes a sip of her tea and swipes her tongue across her bottom lip, gathering her thoughts. Bill’s blue eyes are impatient when she meets them across the table. “I came here today not only to speak about extending my political interests but also to introduce you to the person who’ll be taking my place as Alderman of the 7th ward.” She inclines her head toward Kai and sees him offer the Shepherds a jaunty wave.

“Since Annette addressed me as Mayor the last time we spoke, you must both be aware of my position in the polls. The murder/abduction scandal has done wonders for garnering public sympathy.” Clearing her throat, she says, “we have one week until the final ballots are cast and I’m announced as Mayor of the city. I'll nominate Kai as my predecessor then. He knows the community and he’s been privy to much of my work with the council over the years.”

Bill starts to open his mouth but stops as she raises a quelling hand. “I know you had plans to install your own stooge in the 7th ward, but I think you’ll find that I’m a more dangerous enemy than the Kochs." She narrows her eyes. "Kai has some ideas about how our families might work toward a common goal.” 

Leaning forward, Kai rests one suit clad arm on the table and tells Bill, “your casual acceptance of the Kochs’ plans to dump chemicals in the wetlands and your push for the president to pass the Federal Universal Toxic and Unsafe Regulation Act are boring and unoriginal.” 

Bill's face clouds over in anger as he shouts, “who the fuck do you think you are! You blue haired little shit—"

Kai keeps talking, “oh yes, Duncan’s been very forthcoming about all of your Bond villain type plans to fuck the world over for another dollar. But if it’s power you want Bill, true power and not just another billion for your stack, you need to think bigger than corporate greed.” Kai steeples his hands under his chin. “What do you know about fear?”

At Bill and Annette’s blank looks he says, “I’m not talking about the type of xenophobic, God-fearing shit you Republicans sling, I’m talking about true existential fear. Fear of the apocalypse. Because that’s where we’re headed. The scientists recon we’ve got about a century before we cook ourselves into extinction.” Kai lets that revelation sit for a moment and takes a gulp of his tea.

When Bill sits back in his chair and raises an eyebrow instead of cussing him out, he continues.

“Think about what might happen if your media empire were to start circulating _actual_ news. No more watered down, optimistic bullshit. Millennials and gen-Z would rise up. Mark my words, in the next few decades the younger generations will start dismantling the corporations that have held them hostage in shitty nine to five jobs and have poisoned their planet. If you want to preserve your legacy, we need to start talking about how Shepherd Unlimited is going to be at the forefront of the global campaign to mitigate climate change.”

Bill starts a slow clap. “Wow, Cordelia. You really know how to pick your lackeys. Where’d you find this guy anyway? In a dumpster wearing a tinfoil hat?”

Cordelia lets her lips quirk up. “Kai has a PhD in economics from Harvard and a Doctor of Philosophy in Political Science from Yale.”

Kai shrugs. “I get bored easy.”

“Mock him if you’d like, but it’s to your own detriment,” Cordelia tells Bill. “If you’re uninterested in partnering with us, we'll pursue the Senate on our own.” 

“Do you believe him?” Annette asks her, speaking for the first time since they arrived. “Do you believe that the public is going to become aware and start some massive revolt? Occupy Wall-street didn't get very far off the ground.”

Cordelia remembers the spark of two wires and the heat of the flames the night she’d cradled Mallory on the sidewalk in front of their house.

“I believe that when a person has been beat down for long enough and has nothing left to lose, anything is possible,” she tells Annette. 

\--

Twenty-six days after Harmon’s attack, Mallory is discharged from the hospital. With Cordelia stuck in meetings all day, she calls Duncan to pick her up.

Blushing furiously as he passes the nursing station—there’d been an incident the week before when a nurse walked in on him 'helping' Mallory in the shower—Duncan walks into the room on the surgical floor that’s been Mallory’s home since she was transferred from the ICU and finds her sitting on the side of the bed, staring out the window.

“It’s pretty nice out there,” he tells her. “The leaves are starting to change.” When she meets his eyes he asks, “are you ready to go?”

Mallory heaves a breath and grips the cane in her hand tight. Black lace gloves disguise the fact that her nails are still growing in. Standing to her full height in her black and white striped suit, she looks every inch the violent, drug pushing pimp that Duncan knows she is.

"Steady on Lucius Malfoy." 

Mallory curls her painted lips into a mean smile and says, “lead the way home, pup.” 

\--

Thirty days after Harmon’s attack, Duncan and Mallory finally have penetrative sex again.

Mallory lowers the arm that’s not tucked in her sling and fists a hand in Duncan’s hair. Pulling his head up from where it’s buried between her thighs, she takes a moment to appreciate the way her juices glisten in his beard and then says, “as lovely as your tongue is, I will cut your dick off in your sleep and use it like a dildo if you do not get up here and fuck me right now!”

Duncan rests his chin on her pubic bone and laughs. The vibrations do pleasant things to Mallory’s clit.

Shivering slightly, she watches as he starts trailing kisses up her stomach toward her breasts. He licks over every scar along the way before catching a tight nipple between his teeth. Mallory mewls in pleasure at the sting and feels Duncan’s hands run up and down her ribs, and to her hips and ass, kneading into muscles she'd worked at physiotherapy. 

When Duncan kisses her, hitching her good leg around his hip and butting his cock up against her entrance, she pets over the scrape of his jaw and eats from his mouth like she’s starving.

“Mine,” Mallory breathes, holding his face captive for her kiss. “You’re mine and I want you.” Biting at his bottom lip and pressing her heel into his ass, she takes the initiative and pushes him forward into her sex.

Duncan clearly wasn’t expecting the move. He shudders at the heat of her around his cock after being deprived for so long and swears, “fucking shit! Warn me next time, you little bitch.”

Mallory clamps down on the first few inches of his shaft and watches with glee as Duncan grimaces, trying not to come. “Oh, I’m a bitch?” she asks. Duncan nods silently, fluttering his lashes through the sweet agony and eases himself fully inside of her. The gentleness with which he feeds her his cock won't do. Mallory pinches his nipple and twists. “Fuck me like one then.” 

And he does. For a moment. 

Spurred by the pain of her grip on his nipple, Duncan pulls back and drives into her hard; a sudden violent surge that has Mallory's eyes flaring wide and her leg spasming around his waist. “Again,” she begs, “do it again.”

Bracing his elbows on the sheets they’d once eaten cookies in, Duncan pants a breath and asks, “Mal, are you sure? I mean, your leg...”

Her palm makes a beautiful sound when it connects with the side of his face. Duncan stares at her in outrage for a moment, swipes his tongue through the blood beading on his lip and then snaps.

Mallory takes his sweet abuse of her cunt with smile on her face and a song in her heart.

_When the dog bites_   
_When the bee stings_   
_ When I'm feeling sad_   
_ I simply remember my favorite things_   
_ And then I don't feel so bad_

\-- 

One hundred and sixteen days after Harmon’s attack, Duncan joins the Goodes for dinner on Christmas Eve.

This time, when Behold opens the door to the townhouse he greets Duncan with remarkably less sass. Its unnerving. 

“Don’t look so concerned, honey. You’ll wrinkle that sweet baby face,” Behold drawls, pressing glittery kisses to both of his cheeks. “You’re family now.”

Duncan follows the glint of his sequins to the kitchen and accepts Miriam’s one armed hug and the glass of scotch that Cordelia presses into his hands.

Leaning against the island next to no less than three batches of cookies and a pie, he watches Kai twirl Mallory around to 'Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas' and feels nothing but content. 

Later, when they’re all opening gifts, Behold sets a package on his lap and says, “I’m not usually one to re-gift, but it seemed appropriate that you should have this.”

Touched by the consideration, Duncan immediately lifts the lid on the small box and pulls out the wallet he finds inside. Flipping it open, he glances over the leather and notices a small discolouration. He freezes as it connects. “Is this my fucking freckle!?” 

Kai guffaws, “Merry Christmas, Skin Tag!”

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boglárka = Buttercup
> 
> For more witty/dumbass Duncan check out my Gican (Gigi x Duncan) fics! Or my Mallocan Shibari fic (if you fancy Duncan tying knots).


End file.
